


Throwing Copper

by deciding



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Healing, I even wrote the cat from that one bts picture into the story, Minor Character Death, New Orleans, Pining, Slow Burn, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciding/pseuds/deciding
Summary: The unspoken words were clearer than anything they could have said. The ache of missing one another while in each other’s arms was so much heavier than from miles apart.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza & James Valdez, Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Comments: 54
Kudos: 81





	1. Reinventing Your Exit

“Hey.”

From his spot in bed, slouched back against the pillows, James looked up from the book he was reading. “Hey.”

Teresa was standing in the doorway to his room. He’d heard the familiar click of her boots from down the hallway. One week at the safe house and James could tell who was approaching from the sound of their footsteps and whether or not they were a heavy breather. Not that he’d ever forgotten what Teresa’s footsteps were like.

“You haven’t been sleeping.” The way Teresa said it was more of a statement, an observation, than a question.

James shrugged. “Never been good at sitting idly by without purpose.”

His response was very self-aware. James could sit back, lay low, watch the second hand of a clock tick away, if it was for some sort of mission he had. It was a learned habit, something from his time in the military. Where he’d been and what he’d done for the last year—waiting for the right time to flee and give a warning—were proof. Given time to simply _rest_ was when James rested least of all.

Teresa could see the stress James carried in his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes. She recognized it because she’d seen it in herself before, the restlessness and slight delirium, when she wasn’t sleeping.

But James _had_ served his purpose. He’d made it to New Orleans and warned Teresa of danger she hadn’t seen coming. Anticipating the worst and preparing for traps had always been his thing (his skepticism and pessimism made sure of that) when they worked together. So in a sense it was like he’d never left his post, looking out for her since the day they’d had forty minutes to get to the airport.

Teresa held a package up in her hands. “Delivery for David Lee Autry.”

James grunted in acknowledgement and dog-eared the last page he’d read before setting the book down on the nightstand, using the gun stashed there as a makeshift paperweight. “Yeah? I wonder how he’s doing.”

“He’s recovering from a gunshot wound to the abdomen,” Teresa answered with authority as she walked into the room, “ _he needs to take it easy_.”

“Thanks.” James nodded at Teresa when she placed the box on his lap. “I think these are my clothes.”

David Lee Autry was one of many aliases James had over the last few years but one he maintained with close attention because the so-called Autry had a credit card in his name. James hadn’t exactly had time to pack a bag when he broke out of a CIA facility to warn Teresa about impending doom. He showed up in New Orleans in a stolen car, the clothes on his back, contents of his pockets, and a bullet lodged in his chest.

Teresa picked up the switchblade on the nightstand next to the bed. At the very least he’d had the knife in his pocket when he’d shown up—it was the _only_ weapon of any kind he’d had on him. He hadn’t had a gun. The new one on the corner of the nightstand, next to the knife and holding down the paperback, was from George’s supply.

It gave Teresa an idea of what kind of place James had run from, and what the last several months had been like for him, where weapons were inventoried instead of holstered at night. It was the kind of thing meant to keep people like James from finding a viable way out of their control. It made Teresa’s skin crawl and her blood boil, to know James had willingly made himself a moving target (most likely for someone with a shot as good as if not better than his, because he’d taken a bullet) in order to get to her and warn her of danger.

“Here, you unpack everything.” Teresa handed James the switchblade. “I’ll grab the laundry basket. If we get a load going now, I can put these clothes in the dryer when I come back and they’ll be dry by dinner time.”

James felt a lump in this throat. Whether it was because there was something very domestic about letting someone else do his laundry or because he worried the warning he’d come with wasn’t enough to protect Teresa every time she walked out the door, he wasn’t sure. But he swallowed his feelings down and didn’t put up an argument to her laundry suggestion. He appreciated the clothing George had lent him, but oversized tracksuits and brightly patterned button-down shirts were far from James’ aesthetic. And he absolutely refused to put on King George-branded attire, aerodynamic or not, so he’d been going commando while waiting for David Lee Autry’s online order to show up at Teresa’s PO Box.

Not that his attire or appearance mattered much – James had been no further than the bathroom at the end of the hall in the last two days.

He’d gotten all the new articles of clothing, underwear included, out of the shipping box and removed from the plastic liners when Teresa came back. He began going through each piece and slicing off the SKU tags. Teresa had two baskets with her. She left one on the floor and put the other at the end of the bed. She gathered up the individual articles of clothing each time James was done with another one and dumped them in the basket on the bed. They worked quickly and quietly until James nudged his head in the direction of the other basket.

“What’s that?”

Teresa answered with a question of her own, “Do you think you could sit at the desk for a few minutes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” James responded instantly. “God, yes.”

There’d been what felt like a revolving door of people in and out of James’ room the last two days – bringing him food, checking on him, _annoying_ him. He’d been ordered to bed rest after excess bleeding through his stitches from overexerting himself, so he would jump at any chance to be anywhere but bed.

Earlier in the week, he’d claimed he felt fine. He was up and walking around the house, sitting in the courtyard outside to smoke, and joining the group for dinner. That was, of course, until Teresa caught him biting down on a rag and putting pressure on his wound to stop new bleeding.

The doctor had come back and after patching him up, _again_ , prescribed bed rest for the patient who seemed to be doing everything to keep aggravating his body rather than help it get better. Teresa had been furious, asking if he had a death wish after all, so he’d spent the last two days bored out of his mind in bed from inactivity, barely sleeping and reading Faulkner. Or maybe he’d barely slept because he was reading Faulkner. Either way, James knew it best to tread lightly where Teresa was concerned.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t sit in a chair at a desk though. Anything would be an improvement over laying on his back and waiting for his thoughts to float up to the ceiling.

“I put clean sheets in the other basket,” Teresa explained why she’d brought up the desk. “I was thinking you can sit at the desk while I change the sheets.”

The safe house Teresa had bought, originally of the Antebellum plantation era, had many built-in features. That included the desk and chair in James’ room, made from beautiful white oak, and totally stationary. Teresa couldn’t pick up the chair and move it beside the bed, because it was an upholstered bench built into the wall.

“I’ll sit at the desk,” James squinted at her, “but you don’t have to do that.”

Teresa blinked a few times, blankly. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“Is this your roundabout way of telling me I look like shit and smell bad?”

Teresa gave James a disgruntled look and he reminded himself to tread lightly, _very_ lightly. She’d become the kind of person who needed to be in charge, in control, not only of her operations but her personal agency as well, even if was something as simple as changing the sheets and doing laundry in places she considered _hers_.

“Okay.” James raised his hands in surrender. “Your safe house, your rules.”

Teresa wanted to remind him it was his presence, his blood, that triggered the move to the safe house. It was his warning that got them to safety at all. But she bit her tongue; they’d already hashed that out.

When James had shown up, stopping him from bleeding out and finding out what he meant by _they’re coming for you_ became dueling priorities. Teresa hadn’t had any reason to doubt he’d show up unannounced in the way he did without good reason. She thought they’d both been emotionally scarred by the way they left things when James left Phoenix nearly a year ago, and he’d been a ghost since then, but it wasn’t uncommon for people in their business to lay low, even for _years_ at a time if need be. Teresa mobilized her team, cleared out her warehouse, and left only the bar unturned before she even knew the _why_ behind his reappearance.

James had insisted he wanted to speak to Teresa—only Teresa—once the doctor was there. They didn’t speak until the next day, after the bullet was out of him and he was patched up, and everyone in Teresa’s inner circle had relocated to the safe house for a lockdown.

It was good he’d spoken to her first. Telling ranking members of a cartel you knew they were in danger because you’d run from a CIA facility was no easy feat. He knew Teresa was the only one who would hear him out before making up her mind.

Teresa’s composure faltered when James told her. He hadn’t left Phoenix (and her) for a change of scenery, because the tears in the seams between them were unmendable. He left to protect her.

He worked with Devon and the CIA to protect their asset in Castel, and Teresa was protected by her association with Castel. But the happenings as of late, with the Cubans and the Russians, it had drawn attention, and the local stuff with the judge and his nephew didn’t help either. The moment Castel missed a significant meeting with her handler was the moment Teresa lost protection and drew too much attention. James knew what was next and he made it out to warn her, but barely.

Teresa had cried herself to sleep that night thinking about everything that could have gone wrong, if he hadn’t made it in time, or if he had but if it had been too late for _him_. It wasn’t just anyone—it was _James_ , and he would’ve spent his last dying breath to tell her to chase safety if that was what it took.

 _Look, if you don’t trust me, I get it. I’ll leave when you’re in the clear with Devon. But I had to come anyway_ , he’d said. _Better Pote try and kill me than you and your crew end up dead or in prison._

Pote didn’t hear anything except ‘CIA’ at first. _Remember what I told you, cabrón_ , Pote had said with his gun cocked, _if you ever betrayed us again, I’d kill you myself_.

Teresa and George had to get him to cool off and quarter off a part of the safe house far, far away from James.

The next day Pote’s house was on the news – the first place Devon’s crew hit. It had gone up in flames and flying embers caused damage to the houses in the immediate vicinity, so the neighbors were asking for the owner of the house to identify themselves and contact them so insurance claims could be made.

It was then Pote thought of Kelly Anne and remembered who’d been the one to spare Kelly Anne’s life, because there was no playing house without her. He also remembered what he’d told Teresa about James the year before – _he will die for you_.

Pote had yet to be convinced the statement wouldn’t later turn out to be the fulfillment of a prophecy. Same old story. Same old James.

“Pote around?” James asked with a huff. “This could be…an ordeal.”

With his mobility limited, and Teresa upset with him for trying to do too much too soon, getting out of bed without support was out of the question. It meant even going to take a piss came with arguments and insults each time George or Pote had to help him walk down the hallway.

Teresa shook her head. “I sent him and George to the port to make sure everything is okay with the Colombian shipment.”

Castel was missing, but quietly. Teresa only had that information because James gave it to her. Teresa was still scheduled to get her shipment from Bogota, and she wanted to make sure nothing went awry. It was best to carry on as usual, appear unshaken and in control of the empire, even as Devon dug up the foundation.

“How about Boaz?” James wondered.

Boaz had been called up from Florida to participate in the safe house lockdown when Pote’s house burned down. Since arriving at the safe house, James had found Boaz to be the most annoying of all, drinking all the tequila, having constant karaoke contests with no one other than himself, and overall being loud and obnoxious. Plus, Boaz was in the habit of referring to James as _Santiago_ , which was even less appreciated than the multitude of nicknames George kept at his disposal. The Spanish equivalent of James’ name always reminded him of all his sins, all his actions on the opposite end of the spectrum from sainthood.

“Back to Miami,” Teresa said simply.

It had been 48 hours since Pote’s house was no more and the lockdown was over. It was why everyone was back to normal business operations.

“ _What_?” James replied, nostrils flaring. “Teresa, did you come back here alone?”

“You’re here.”

“I can’t even stand on my own without splitting my stitches open,” James reminded.

“Yeah, and _I’ll_ help you sit,” Teresa responded with emphasis. “I can handle more than your dead weight, James.”

“That is not the point I’m trying to make and you know it.” James sighed. “Have you forgotten why we’re here? I know the people who Devon sent—I spent the better part of the last year with them. You can’t just go places as you please without taking someone with you, even if it’s back to the fort. It’s _dangerous_.”

“I know you’re trying to help me,” Teresa insisted, feeling like they’d been having the same argument for years, like she’d exhausted all the words to tell him to back off, “but I don’t need you to lecture me.”

There was a time when James had been her mentor to the underworld, always keeping her from sinking to the bottom, even when he’d been the one who had to make the tough calls and take the brutal actions. She didn’t think he’d ever be able to rid himself of that balancing act, of showing her the ropes but strongly advising her to untether herself from the line completely, to walk away. Teresa could still hear his voice in the back of her mind, from the night after the party at the Birdman’s when he told her in a matter-of-fact fashion why he’d sent her in: _your job was to learn_. Since then, and especially in his absence, it seemed there’d been only tough lessons to learn and bitter pills to swallow.

“Text George,” James said with a bite in his tone. “Tell him to pick you up when they’re done at the port.”

Teresa’s expression softened after an initial exasperated sigh. She saw James for who he was—a survivor like her. After everything they’d been through, he was posted up in bed in her safe house on the outskirts of town, having taken a bullet, and for what? For loyalty? For her?

They were so far removed from the time he’d said _I’ve got a plan for a future and it doesn’t include getting killed by crossfire meant for you_. But he’d chosen crossfire—sought it out, really—that was what his future devolved into. And like he’d said back then, she was trouble. More and more, Teresa had begun to wonder if there was anything the James she’d first met in Dallas wasn’t right about.

Teresa waited until George replied with an _already_ _on our way,_ _ETA 10 minutes,_ before holding her phone up for James to see. “Satisfied?”

James scoffed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “Nothing about this is satisfying.”

Instead of rolling her eyes or getting back into the routine of arguing, Teresa smirked. James’ realistic cynicism was something he couldn’t help. There were a lot of yes men around her, a perk of being _La Jefa_ , and James would fall in line, but not without making his displeasure and distaste known every single time.

And if it came down to it, like it had with Devon, James would still go out and do what he thought was right, even if on the surface it appeared he’d abandoned ship or betrayed his allies. _That_ was certainly something about the James she’d met in Dallas that didn’t fade away. He was complicated. He’d shielded her and carried a lot of burdens so she didn’t have to. His loyalty and bravery were crippling, always in silence.

“Let’s get you to the desk so I can change the bed, okay?” Teresa moved the basket of James’ new clothes onto the floor and pulled back the duvet to reveal James’ legs, clad in George’s gaudy track pants. “Give me your arm.”

James extended his arm and Teresa pulled him to sit up. She moved James’ arm over her shoulder and pushed aside the thought of how close they were when he scooted to the edge of the bed, and let his feet touch the ground.

“Ready?” Teresa asked.

James gave a quick nod and adjusted his position, fingers grazing her bicep, so the distribution of his weight could be better handled between the two of them when he stood.

A flash of orange fur moved in the corner of Teresa’s vision and she looked down to her feet. A broad smile broke out on her face when the orange tabby cat rubbed up against her leg.

“Hey look,” Teresa said as the cat stretched and then jumped up on the bed, “Peach has come to help out.”

James wrinkled his nose but scratched the cat behind the ears. “I doubt it.”

The orange tabby had come with the safe house, so to speak. Even on the day Teresa had come with Pote to scope out the place months ago, the cat walked the grounds of the compound like it owned the place. It didn’t seem to belong to anyone, it was just always there. Once the safe house was purchased, Teresa had tasked Kelly Anne with luring the cat into a pet carrier and taking it to the vet. They found out it was a female cat, probably a little more than a year old, and it had no microchip. It was likely a street cat, the vet had said while administering the vaccination shots, and could be taken in as a pet _if_ the cat allowed it.

It only took Teresa a day to get the cat to venture inside and it only took George a few minutes to declare its name: Peach. _God damn, we got ourselves a grumpy cat on our hands_ , George had exclaimed as she sunk her claws into his flesh before escaping from his embrace like a magic trick, _she’s got the same personality as Giant Peach over here. She’s little Peach_.

James knew any argument he put up against it would have been drowned out by the immediate collective support for the name Peach and the nonchalant dig at him. So Peach it was.

Secretly, the name was the only thing that bothered James about Peach. It was nice to have another soul around, even if it was a cat, while everyone else tended to Teresa’s business during the day. Plus, Peach had no insults to throw around to undermine him. She mocked him in silence, like she was all-knowing when she stared at him with haughtiness in her green eyes.

He thought Peach was more like Teresa than himself. Maybe it was why he didn’t mind the cat’s company.

“I think you’re Peach’s favorite,” Teresa suggested. “She never comes into _my_ room. It’s like she knows she’s named after you.”

James shook his head. “If that’s true, it’s only by default because I’m _always_ here.”

They’d been at the safe house for a week and he had only seen the outdoors through the windows since messing up his stitches. At first, Peach would stand tentatively in the doorway, watching his every move—he hadn’t done much beyond breathing. Then she began circling in and out of the room, marking his territory as her own. It was two nights before, after his stitches had been repaired, right as he was about to fall asleep that Peach jumped on the bed. She prodded at James with her paws and pink nose, mocked him with her stare, and snuggled into the body heat emanating from him at the foot of the bed. Her feline instinct seemed to tell her he was injured and she should watch over him.

“Well, the faster you stop trying to fight the healing, the faster we can remedy that,” Teresa advised him.

The doctor would have been back the next day to remove the stitches altogether if he hadn’t bled excessively through the first set. James tried not to give too much weight to the implication in Teresa’s word choice: _we_.

She’d repeated his own words back to him the last time she’d saved him from the fire and brimstone in his mind. _We’re in this together_. But they were so far removed from that now—that had been nearly a year ago—and there were no strings attached when he’d decided to hightail it to Louisiana to warn her of impending doom. He was following through on the path he’d set out for himself when he went back to the unfinished business he’d had with Devon. He’d gone so he could stay one step ahead and warn Teresa when Devon was about to make a move. James thought Teresa, who’d risen from ashes using only sheer determination, deserved better than to be buried in a shallow ditch. He didn’t expect to be welcomed back into the fold, and he didn’t think he could stay even if there were open arms – there would certainly be fallout for his actions.

James didn’t argue or justify why he wanted to rush the road to recovery. He only exhaled. “Okay.”

“Alright, come on,” Teresa took hold of his arm draped over her shoulder, “get up.”

“Teresa…”

“It will be fine,” she said confidently. “Let’s go.”

Her knees almost buckled at first when James shifted some of his weight to her and they took a few steps. She gritted her teeth and moved her arm around his back.

“ _Shit_ ,” Teresa cursed.

Teresa had once seen James barely flinch when Charger pulled a bullet out of his shoulder with forceps. She’d seen La Capitana punch him in the face and Cortez electrocute him. Like his loyalty, James usually endured pain in relative silence, with little resistance and no more than a few grunts. She would even wager he was hurting himself now, not fully draping his weight over her shoulders to support him, and in turn making it worse, making everything heavier. She concluded he was as hurt as she believed him to be—not like the impression he tried to give off—if he felt like he couldn’t even let her share the burden of helping him walk a few strides across the room.

“Remember,” James winced as they reached the chair and stopped in front of it, not as fast and painless as either of them could have hoped, “this was your idea.”

He let go of Teresa and she hovered by his side as he pivoted. James overshot and hissed, pain searing up his chest toward his lungs, and Teresa caught him in between his shoulder blades before he could lose his balance. His hands went to her waist and the moment was laced with intimacy as he steadied himself, his fingers digging into her ribcage. Teresa adjusted her hand on his back and moved up to the back of his neck, angling her body away from his injury but inadvertently getting closer in every other way. James loosened his grip but pulled her in, hands settling over the waves of her hair. Then they were in an embrace, breathing each other in. Teresa closed her eyes and James let his head rest against her shoulder. There was familiarity and desire and urgency that made the air around them hard to breathe.

The unspoken words were clearer than anything they could have said. The ache of missing one another while in each other’s arms was so much heavier than from miles apart.

Once James was seated, their eyes met. Teresa thought it was like muscle memory she couldn’t shake, a default setting, searching James’ eyes for the next move, for reassurance, for clarity. She resisted the urge to touch his face, fingers curling into a fist next to his ear and then falling to pat his arm before withdrawing back to herself.

As she turned away and walked back to the bed to begin changing the sheets, her mind took her beyond the situations of danger she’d been in with James and to the ones that made her heart race for a different reason. Teresa remembered the way the scratch of James’ beard felt against her bottom lip and in between her thighs. She remembered how peaceful he’d looked in his sleep in the morning after the times they’d slept together. It made her face heat up and she was glad James couldn’t see her face as she took the sheets off the bed, thinking about what they’d done between the sheets in the midst of the chaos that was Phoenix.

Unknowingly and unsuspecting, in silence, James watched her work. It took time as she stopped to play with Peach, who rolled around and swatted at her like it was a game, following Teresa to every corner of the bed.

“ _Hey!_ ” Teresa frowned after a while, when Peach clawed roughly at the duvet. “Don’t break out the feathers.”

James couldn’t help the hint of the smile Teresa caught on his face when she turned back toward him, hands on her hips, like she was blaming him for the actions done by the adorable cat who was his namesake. She rolled her eyes but kissed Peach on the head before resuming, unfolding the pillowcases she’d pulled from the linen closet.

“This is amusing to you?” Teresa looked back over at James.

“You know, for as long as I worked for Camila, I can’t recall a time when she ever had less than a domestic staff of six people,” James replied pensively. “I doubt she ever made up her own bed, and she _definitely_ wasn’t making anyone else’s.”

The first time Teresa walked into one of Camila’s mega mansions in Dallas, one Epifanio didn’t know about, James had said _you didn’t think Camila Vargas would lay low in a dump, did you?_ It was true, even then, that though they’d mostly been left to their own devices, there were domestic staff stationed to clean the house and do the landscaping and maintain the pool.

Teresa nearly snorted. “Can you imagine me telling Pote he’s being replaced in the kitchen by someone who _doesn’t_ know how to make his abuelita’s enchilada soup?”

“My point is that the way you lead, by example, is admirable. You should be proud of that,” James explained why he’d brought up their former queenpin, “and that’s why you need to be careful. You care so much about everyone around you, and you can rely on them, but they depend on you, too. So don’t set yourself on fire.”

Taking a different approach to give his advice was appreciated by Teresa. And James knew her well, better than she ever gave him credit for, because it was the kind of approach she responded well to, when her concern for others was brought up. It was as important to Teresa that the risks everyone was taking for her and her business were worthwhile as it was that she had their loyalty.

“I get it, James. Really.” Teresa answered honesty as she heard the door alarm beep once from down the hallway. The safe house was a secure complex, but the alarm system was still set to chime whenever one of the doors opened, keeping everyone alert. Even James— _especially James_ , who was on orders of bed rest—never let a gun be more than an arm’s reach away. “I’ll be careful.”

Before Teresa could pull her firearm from the waistband of her jeans, George’s rambunctious voice rang out.

“Yo, _Princepessa_ ,” he bellowed, “your royal carriage has arrived!”

James and Teresa looked at each other and exchanged mirroring sighs. Teresa moved to the door and poked her head out into the hallway. “In here, George.”

George did a double take when he entered the room, raising his eyebrows, noting James sitting at the desk and the baskets full of laundry on the ground.

“You already cleaning house for new occupancy, T?” George asked Teresa and pointed at James. “You know just because you put Baby Chapo in a corner, it don’t mean he’s gone, right?”

Teresa chuckled. Everything out of George’s mouth was unfiltered yet so specifically placed. He was wired differently, that was for sure, and it was no wonder he was just the right amount of crazy to be a pirate who dealt in guns.

“James’ clothes were delivered to the PO Box,” Teresa responded as she finished changing the last pillowcase. “I thought the washing machine could use a full load.”

George snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the next Tom Brady.”

The wool couldn’t be pulled over George’s eyes with an explanation like that, especially when the majority of James’ wardrobe was black. Everyone in the room knew of Teresa’s humble beginnings in Culiacán and she knew very well not to mix light bedsheets and dark clothing. She’d have to run the clothes and the sheets separately; she’d given herself double the amount of work.

Teresa chose to ignore George’s sarcasm.

“Anyway, I’m gonna get this stuff started before we head out.” Teresa picked up the laundry baskets, stacking them so she could balance them between her hip and one hand. “George, can you help James get back to the bed? I’ll meet you in the car.”

“Sure thing, baby girl.”

With her free hand, Teresa touched James’ shoulder and their eyes locked. “See you later. You should rest.”

James fidgeted with his hands, running his fingers against his thumbs. “Yeah. Thanks.”

George suspected there was much more to the exchange than the parting words voiced out loud, noticing there was a sense of thanks in her eyes, too. The looks Teresa and James gave each other exuded the tension between them and always made it feel at least ten degrees hotter than it actually was in any room. They had their own way of communicating that only made sense to them, that no one else was privy to. There were better odds throwing copper down a wishing well than trying to decode their language of silence.

James’ room was on the main floor, the closest bedroom to the front door. Since he was not part of the crew, he had the misfortune of being in the bedroom closest to the front door, most vulnerable if somehow the safe house was intruded upon. The laundry room was on the second floor, and George waited until he heard the clicking of Teresa’s boots ascend up the stairs before he whistled high and loud. “Y’all are more entertaining than the Real Housewives. Not that I’m surprised. You _are_ Ken Kardashian after all.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” James threw his arms out sardonically and rolled his eyes. “ _To entertain_.”

“Well what are you here for then, if not that?” George asked, his tone flattening out.

“We discussed this already. To make sure things are square with Devon. New York—the Russians—that’s drawing a lot of heat pending Castel’s reappearance.” James reaffirmed his stance. “But don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s dealt with.”

“Think you might need to reinvent your exit strategy, Giant Peach,” George said with a frown, nearly in disbelief with himself over what he was about to reveal to James.

“Reinvent?”

“Reinvent. Rethink. As in don’t make one. Methinks the last thing Little Principessa needs right now is more people _leaving_.” George spoke without his usual puns, so James didn’t have to question if he was being serious.

In between meals and group discussions, James had picked up on what the cost of doing business in New Orleans had been for Teresa. There was Javier—meant to be his pseudo-replacement—who went out in a blaze of glory, literally. There was Tony, a casualty of a car bomb meant for Teresa—which put her in the hospital. There was even a bartender, Birdie, who’d looked up to Teresa, and wasn’t part of the business, but had paid with her life anyway. James had gathered that she meant something to George.

Teresa’s evolving thirst for vengeance, to even the score, was foreign to James. It was part of Teresa that scared James a bit. Before he left Phoenix, he’d seen tiny red flashes of her anger, questionable decisions so far removed from when she’d stood within shooting distance on a train car and said _we can do a different way, where none of us has to die._ Her vision had seemed clear then; she wanted to move product without the same bloodshed as Camila. When James worked for Teresa, he’d never wanted her to lose herself in the business, and never thought she should stay in the business—those were things she’d said she never wanted, too. But being at the top in the business, like she was, it changed people. It was inevitable. It pulled them down into the fire until there was nothing left but scorched earth.

James used to see a blinding light when he looked right into Teresa’s eyes, a moral compass of sorts, always willing him to choose the humanity he’d buried so deep. But now it was light mixed with dark, integrated too well to be separated. Now looking into her eyes was like staring at a flickering light, not sure if it was going to illuminate the cave or burn out.

It scared James almost as much as he was scared for her.

“I came here with a warning,” James answered George. “I’m not here to save anyone. And Teresa’s as strong as they come. She’ll save herself. She always does.”

“If you really believe that, why come at all?” George challenged. “Why spend the last year of your life going all G.I. James, keeping tabs and making sure you made it just in time before Devon’s first hit?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” James said defensively. “I didn’t come here for you.”

“There it is.” Rather than take offense, George had a twinkle in his eye to pair with the grin that spread across his face. “ _There it is_.”

James scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re a soldier boy so you’ve got a hero complex. You can’t even help it.” George shrugged. “Now of course, it’s selective. I’d have to drop at least a hundred pounds and fill out a dress much better to get in the good graces of that complex.”

“First of all, there are no heroes in a world where we dole out drugs and guns and death.” James tapped his fingers against the desk as he spoke. “And a _dress_? You think this whole thing is over how I think Teresa looks in a dress?”

“Y’all been through a lot together, I get it,” George acknowledged with a nod. “But listen, between you and me, Chewie keeps going on and on about the danger of you being here, and how it’s a distraction for her, how she’s gonna start thinking with her ladybits instead of her head. So don’t think the mixing of business and pleasure—the emotional mess—y’all got into in Phoenix wasn’t on anyone’s radar. You wanna know what I think though?”

James blew out a breath. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“She needs you. She needs you to question her and defy her with unsolicited advice.” George walked over to James and offered his arm, for James to stand up. “She’s better at all of this when you challenge her. And when she’s better, we’re all better.”

“She’ll listen to you and Pote,” James remarked as George helped him back to the bed.

“Oh, come on now, kemosabe,” George let his typical diction and pirate’s jargon back into his speech, “we all know it hits with a different passion when it comes from you. Just look at where we are right now.”

James kept his feet planted on the ground and leaned back, palms planted against the bed, as silence lapsed. It was uncomfortable, talking to George about Teresa behind her back, especially with the words _passion_ and _need_ flying around. He let Peach burrow under his arm on his good side; she’d never left the bed and her eyes mocked him again, as if telling him to concede, to take George’s words into consideration. Because while everyone else was kept in line by the high stakes of their business, George had always been in it for the thrill, and thus was not one to usually waste his breath on serious conversations.

“I never expected for this to be a homecoming. I don’t even know if she wants me around,” James said honestly.

George was right that James and Teresa had created an emotional mess between them, and it lingered even after James left Phoenix. Both of them were still dancing around the elephant in the room whenever they were face to face and alone, looking in each other’s eyes, each of them daring the other to take the leap into the kind of conversation that was hardest to have, full of feelings and honesty. It was one neither of them were ready to have.

“I ain’t never seen her like this before.” George shook his head, giving James more food for thought. “She’s like this because it’s you, because last week she came close to losing you.”

 _I don’t want to lose you_. Maybe that had been a proclamation of love in her own way, and maybe that was the last honest thing Teresa had ever said to James, after she’d realized she’d been wrong to doubt him. Those words had gripped him and followed him. He’d found solace and comfort in them even after he left, because he’d wanted nothing more than to stay, but he left to protect her because of what Devon had hanging over his head.

James didn’t respond to George, didn’t know how to. And George was willing to leave them be, Peach and Giant Peach, to give James the rest of the afternoon to stew over what to do. Given the situation they were in, he didn’t even think Devon Finch was the biggest problem to be resolved. He’d seen it, when James pulled up in that stolen car, that Teresa had been holding her breath, waiting since the day James had gone away. George and Teresa had been through quite a lot together, too, and he’d never seen her exhale in relief quite like she did when she saw James again, bleeding on her doorstep but still alive.

James would never ask and Teresa would never tell. But George thought James ought to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...not at all satisfying up to this point. I meant to write something in 2500 words or less, so instead I wrote something long that needs multiple parts. Whoops. At least King George ships Jeresa, right?
> 
> I promise the stuff about Devon and Castel and New York will make sense soon.
> 
> [Extended Chapter Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/636395979264884736/throwing-copper-extended-chapter-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


	2. The Queen of Lower Chelsea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating and tags have been updated.

Teresa capped the fine tip marker she’d been using to mark spots on the blueprint sprawled over the table in front of her. “So what do you think?”

Beside her, James’ eyes darted around the page. His left arm was crossed over his chest, hand supporting the elbow of his right arm, his fingers scratching at his facial hair as he made his assessment.

Although Teresa had come to an agreement with Oksana’s cousin, Kostya, for the distribution of product in New York, the happenings of the last two weeks had put the terms into question. News traveled fast and dealers—especially ones with as far a reach as Kostya—were wary of cartels whose houses were (quite literally) on fire. Kostya was due back in New Orleans and demanded another meeting with Teresa. A time and location had been set. Without Randall running interference on their every move, Teresa, Pote, and George had gotten hold of the municipal plans and photos of the meeting location and every building around it in a two-block radius.

Knowing what they did about Devon and the CIA, and knowing they had to hide that information from the Russians, they’d left no stone unturned in preparation for the meeting. Teresa didn’t want to take any chances and piss off her new distributor if uninvited guests showed up. Oksana had warned her an unplanned visit from Kostya meant the last visit someone would ever get, from anyone, so she was thankful a meeting had been set.

Teresa also considered Kostya could be in bed with Devon or the CIA, and that they’d orchestrated the meeting as a trap.

Teresa went through the meeting plan with James, using a clean copy of a blueprint to make sure she knew every little detail of the building. Because he had the most experience with the CIA, having recently busted out of one of their facilities, she thought he’d have some insight on whether or not it seemed like a sting, and what she should do if it was.

Several beats passed before James replied. Teresa saw a familiar grim expression flash in his eyes and spread over his face as the corners of his lips downturned. “I think someone’s gonna get killed.”

Teresa crossed her arms over her chest, casting a look of exasperation his way, as if to say _really_? He’d let her talk through the meticulous details of what she knew and what she’d planned for her team that would be on standby, only to say that?

“What?” James gave his own pointed look. “Should I have lied instead? Told you it’s a good idea?”

“Why do you always have to go to the worst-case scenario?” Teresa shot back with a sigh.

“You asked me what I think, and that’s what I think.”

“Then just come out and say what you really mean, James. It’s _me_ you’re talking about, right?” Teresa raised an eyebrow. “You think I’ll be the one targeted to be killed.”

“Well, given that you’re supposed to show up to this meeting alone, with no protection of your own, and everyone else there is from their side,” James’ tone rose with irritation as he spoke, “process of elimination, I’d say the odds are not in your favor.”

“Oksana will be there.”

“Oksana is Kostya’s family.”

“Exactly.”

James scoffed. “What, are you planning to use her as a human shield if bullets start flying?”

“It’s not going to rain bullets. I just need to reassure Kostya that everything’s fine.”

“There aren’t enough exit routes to bail quickly and you can’t know who will be posted at each one once you’re up on the fifth floor.” James tapped his index finger on the blueprint then looked over the photos of buildings in the area George had canvassed before picking one up. “If you want an overwatch, this is the only building with a vantage point, with _any_ vantage point into the one you’ll be in.”

James tossed the photo haphazardly back onto the table and it landed next to Teresa’s pinky. She picked it up. The building was an old garment factory, indiscrete with some of the window panes cracked or busted out completely. Like the building the meeting was set to be in, all of the windows had bars on them. There’d be no breaking through and jumping down the fire escape if needed. There was no fire escape.

“I know you think I should forget about the meeting, but I can’t say no to Kostya,” Teresa stated the obvious. “And skipping out isn’t a viable option, not if I want to expand up the coast.”

“You should think about getting the hell out of Dodge,” James said boldly. “What was it you said that night, before Devon called you for dinner at the winery? You wanted to get big enough so no one could hurt you. Don’t you think you’re well past that now? Do you really need every last little light in New York City? You should go with George, to whatever island he found in the Caribbean.”

Gone were the early days of trepidation at the safe house, when James had kept himself in check and treaded lightly around Teresa. He recovered rather quickly once the initial boredom of staying put actually helped, like the doctor had said it would. It was only a few days until he’d been able to walk around the house again. In between feeding Peach and looking for clues of Devon’s movement and Castel’s whereabouts, James had begun rehabbing himself, working up to a jog on the treadmill and gradually adding weight to the bar to bench press.

It was what he’d been doing before Teresa asked if he could look something over, meeting him in his room a few minutes later, with blueprints and floorplans and photos spread out on the desk. He had still been drying the sweat off with the towel around his neck when she launched into her plan, a little frustrated his workout had been interrupted and even more so when he found out it was for something so dangerous that it was downright _reckless_.

It was the first time Teresa had asked James to give his opinion on something directly related to her business since he’d been in New Orleans. It was his first chance to challenge her.

Teresa’s expression was unreadable, neutral, when she responded to his advice. “It was ‘us’.”

“What?”

“The night Devon called me in for dinner at the winery,” Teresa spoke with clear memory, “I said I wanted to get big enough so no one could hurt _us_.”

She watched James for his reaction, the way he wrung his hands at his sides and wrinkled his nose and looked away from her with a single shake of his head, eyes casting to a spot over her shoulder.

He’d said things like that before, too, like _we’re preparing for our future_ and _I’m gonna do whatever it takes to protect us_. It was a collective sentiment, for the teams they’d been part of, but at times the words felt so specific to the two of them, who’d always seemed to be right in the eye of the storm of those teams together.

The thing with being the one to challenge Teresa was knowing how to roll with the punches, for how she would fight back. James was good at that, had always been good at that. If her words meant to cut him down, for the way she’d saved him when Devon showed up at the winery, he didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. His gaze moved from the bookshelf full of alphabetized novels behind her and back to her face, to look her squarely in the eye.

Teresa would be the one to flinch, a small sad smile stretching across her face.

“How did we get here?” she wondered. “With you being the one trying to pull me back from the ledge and asking where my respectable convictions went?”

It didn’t seem like it’d been so long ago when she was voicing her distaste and disapproval for the way James lived, for the things he’d had to do, so deeply ingrained in a world of criminal activity that was new to her. Teresa remembered how hollow his voice had been when he’d said _that’s the wrong answer_ after he’d asked her what they should do about Lopez’s guy who tried to short them on payment and she’d said, with worry, to let him go. It was only the second time she’d worked with James, and she’d been naïve then. She’d been naïve still, months later when she told James he was a good person and _that’s not who you are_ about cartel operations that ended with casualties—though she believed she was right about those things. But as she moved up, and in her quest for expansion, she’d burned bridges and done wrong, setting aside her inconvenient convictions. Teresa always told herself it was for survival, for the good of everyone around her. But there was a seduction to vengeance, and sometimes it was without guilt that the flames licked at her face and she chose wrath.

James had once told Teresa he didn’t aspire to own the whole building—the Vargas empire—he just wanted a few bricks. It wasn’t the same for Teresa. Her vendetta against Epifanio and Camila, for the losses of Brenda and Güero and so much more, meant she had to have _everything_ , her way, on her terms.

“Look, I’m just trying to keep you alive,” James said in a gentler tone, without answering the questions she’d posed directly. “Always have been.”

James’ words reminded Teresa how consistent he was. He always had a bottom line. In this scenario, she guessed, his bottom line was what he’d just declared.

“I know.” Teresa nodded. “And I value your opinion, really. I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, James sighed. “Just like I know you’re going to do this anyway.”

Teresa fought back the urge to grin. James was smart—logical. They were both survivors and that was how he survived. He questioned her not because he thought she should be exactly like him, but because he wanted her to think, to weigh out all her options carefully. It was why they argued and why he was a good soldier. It was why, Teresa supposed, she’d called on him to check out her plan, even if she wouldn’t heed his advice. 

She held the picture up in her hands. “The distance between the buildings is about 150 meters. Will you help me?”

It was a big ask—they both knew it. Teresa was asking him to be part of a situation he didn’t approve of in the first place, but James would feel better knowing he could get a handle on it, and could take someone out if it got out of control. It meant Teresa wouldn’t be going in blind and helpless.

James had the experience and tactical prowess to handle a sniper rifle. He was the only one she’d ever worked with and trusted who did. James let his arms drop to his sides and his eyes closed momentarily as he took in a sharp breath. He ran a palm over his face and gave a half-shrug.

His answer brought them both relief. “Of course.”

Teresa nodded and James saw the flickering lights in her eyes again. “It will be fine.”

“That’s what you think,” James came back with his skepticism. “You can’t know for sure.”

It was settled, and he would help, but it didn’t change James’ mind that they’d be towing the line of destruction. They both had their minds made up and Teresa didn’t think arguing over it further would make any difference.

After a long pause of them watching each other, Teresa came up with a new approach to inspire confidence.

“James, can you…” she bit her lip, almost deciding to abandon the idea mid-sentence, but then steeled her nerves and went for it. “Can you give me something of yours?”

James’ brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“When I was summoned to Bolivia by El Santo, Pote gave me that card with the psalm on it. It was important to him, symbolic, because if I had it on me, it meant I’d be protected, and I’d be back,” Teresa explained. “So give me something. Something that matters. I’ll give it back.”

James was glad Teresa had that fire in her, that determination to get through anything. He was glad, too, that she could acknowledge she might be about to walk into the belly of the beast. But the cynic that he was, James thought they had a narrow shot at playing the meeting right without everything blowing up in their faces, and he didn’t think symbolism was going to change the outcome.

“Superstition isn’t going to save your life, Teresa,” James said.

“That’s what _you_ think,” Teresa repeated his words from moments before. “You can’t know for sure.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, James shook his head, finding Teresa’s indignation both amusing and aggravating. “Fine.”

He walked over to the closet and slid the door open, where his leather jacket was hanging. He reached into the inner pocket on the right side to the item he knew would be there, scooping it up from the bottom of the lining. The metal was cool and the edges sharp against his fingers.

It shone in the light when James unraveled it and held it out to Teresa. “Here.”

Teresa flattened her palm behind the object, looking at it closely. It was a necklace, either silver or white gold, and the pendant was a miniature cross, not like the ones usually worn by sicarios for perceived protection or fashion. James curled the chain over the back of Teresa’s hand.

“Don’t worry,” James spoke as he let go, “it doesn’t have a tracker in it. Devon and the CIA didn’t know I had that on me.”

Teresa hadn’t been thinking about Devon or the tracker that had been in Güero’s necklace—the tracker that had made her question James all those months ago—but she nodded anyway. She recognized what she was holding in her hand.

“You used to wear this in Dallas,” Teresa said, looking up from the necklace to James, “even though you said you weren’t religious.”

One of the first things James ever said to her was _I’m not religious, whoever they stole this car from is_ after Teresa made a snide comment about the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, as he’d raced against time to the airport. She remembered everything about her early interactions with James. She remembered his longer hair that was a little too perfectly messy—tousled. She remembered he spoke to her coldly and never smiled, even though his eyes were warm. She remembered when he’d covered for her, something he’d decided to do of his own volition, more than once, and how it helped her understand who he really was. She remembered seeing the chain against the skin of his neck, the necklace usually tucked under his shirt. She hadn’t seen the pendant until the night when Eric’s men followed them to the cemetery to retrieve Camila’s reserve money, and Charger had to pull a bullet out of James’ shoulder after the car they were in was shot up.

“It’s my sister’s,” James told Teresa, then corrected himself after a beat, “ _was_ my sister’s.”

Not once had James ever spoken to Teresa about his family before. But then again, neither had Teresa spoken of hers.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Teresa didn’t miss the tension in James’ jaw before he answered, “She died when we were young.”

Teresa felt a gnawing in her chest at his words. Since he’d shown up in New Orleans—his presence reminding her of everything between them that also kept them apart—she sometimes felt like there was a constant weight on her chest, a fist around her heart. If she didn’t already feel like that, she was sure what he’d revealed would have made her heart clench.

She wanted to backpedal and take back her request instantly. Teresa thought James would give her his aviators or an inscribed Zippo or his dog tags that reminded him of camaraderie and brotherhood in the army, when he’d been a soldier for the concept of God and country rather than kilos of product. She didn’t want to take his young, dead sister’s necklace from him. Just because he wasn’t religious or superstitious, it didn’t mean he wasn’t sentimental. He must be, if he kept the necklace safe and made sure no one took it from him.

But it was too late for her to push it back into his hand, especially after the fuss she’d made about him giving her something to hold on to. She felt guilty. James had just agreed to be at the meeting, in the shadows. He’d be across the street looking down the scope of a sniper rifle, looking after her. Didn’t he need someone or something to look out for him, too? Teresa swallowed down the growing lump in her throat and pocketed the necklace.

“I’ll give it back,” she said confidently, with a silent promise she was going to be okay and would return. “You’ll see.”

James didn’t give any indication of whether or not he believed her.

Teresa cleared her throat before launching into her next thought. “Listen, if Devon is there—”

“If Devon is there, we can’t touch him,” James interrupted. “He has you, your crew, your location…who knows what else. Until we know what’s going on with Castel, taking out Devon isn’t an option.”

“Do you have an update on Castel? Anything at all?”

“Not yet.” James shook his head, displeased the trail was still cold. “I’m following a lead but it’s all pretty touch and go.”

“If Devon _is_ there,” Teresa began again, “do you think he’ll be willing to negotiate?”

“I don’t know, but you’re going to have to try,” James responded ruefully. “It might come down to showing gratitude to him, for letting you operate down here, and giving up the Russians right then and there.”

“Devon doesn’t _let_ me do anything,” Teresa said, her tone disgruntled. “I never needed his permission.”

James sighed. “He doesn’t see it that way. He likes mind games, you know that. Listen though—Devon would come after me, try to kill me—but if he’s at the meeting, he won’t try to take you out with Kostya there. He’s said he wouldn’t go after you if I stayed put and because of Castel, but he also knows the landscape. He knows you’re a valuable piece on the gameboard.”

“I swear, James, if he shows and you have a clear shot at him…”

“Teresa, _no_. Something happens to him and it won’t just be the CIA all over you,” James warned. “You have no idea how far down this rabbit hole goes. You’ve never even grazed the bottom. Believe me, you don’t want to.”

Teresa felt the fist around her heart again. She didn’t know if she should react in tenderness or in anger. Teresa was sure she hated Devon, and what she hated about him most of all was how he’d affected James—made him go after people, fucked him up inside with collateral damage, then used her against him to control him. She knew James had some say in it at the beginning—had even signed up for it—but when he went back to face the consequences, it was because of what he thought Devon would do to her. The way Teresa felt about James was a fist around her heart but his loyalty was like a burning love, squeezing her heart so hard it might burst apart.

“Why don’t you just tell me, show me the bottom?” Teresa suggested. “So I know what I’m up against.”

It was clear what James had seen and experienced over the last year was hard to stomach. His silence over it spoke volumes. He’d never given any details about what it had been like to be with Devon’s crew or the CIA, just that he knew what they were like and what they were capable of.

“Don’t do that. Don’t ask me that.” The look in James’ eyes went dire and he narrowed his eyes at Teresa, his voice turning cold. “You want to risk it all, fine. I can’t stop you. I’ll help try and keep you alive. But _don’t_ turn me into the person responsible for direct actions that will get you killed.”

There it was again. The reminder that she’d turned a major corner in the way she dealt with things. James had once told her the light inside her she was trying to keep alive would get her killed. Now she had a knack for declaring open season on those who got in her way. It was the opposite side of the same coin.

Teresa made emotional decisions and relied on her gut instinct. She knew that, and there were blunders along the way, but she believed being that way had gotten her to where she was. So she resented the notion that there was something so bad she would fly off the handle at a moment’s notice and destroy herself. But what pissed her off more was James deciding to take on an entire burden without even consulting her, and without thinking of himself.

“That’s not fair,” Teresa retorted. “It’s not okay for you to leave me in the dark in order to protect me. You never even asked me if I wanted that. What about you, James? Who’s going to protect _you_?”

Through hazy eyes, Teresa saw George appear in the doorway, an eyebrow raised at the argument and hostile tone in both their voices. He hovered but didn’t enter.

In front of her, James was scowling angrily, wringing the ends of the towel he had around his neck.

“I would never leave you in the dark, Teresa,” James uttered, sighing deeply. “For some reason I’m the only one who can’t stop trying to pull you out of it.”

Teresa’s eyes closed as he stormed out of the room, brushing past George.

It was pathetic, or sad, or both, that she and James communicated best in metaphors or what was left unsaid. She knew exactly what he meant.

Like she’d alluded to earlier on in their conversation, Teresa and James had undergone a role reversal. She’d seen the best in him and brought it out. In doing so, she put him in danger, in a moral crisis. And she turned on a light for him, only to burrow herself closer and closer to total darkness as he crawled his way out.

But she knew why James mattered to her. She knew why she felt a void when he was gone and she wanted to keep him where she could see him, to protect him. He reminded her of who she used to be, who he’d stuck his neck out for—someone worth saving in a sea of uncertainty. There was no going back; Teresa couldn’t be who she once was. But James had changed as well, _evolved_ , gaining some of the qualities that deep down she wished she’d never lost. So she wanted to keep him close and safe. She understood they couldn’t save each other, not by a long shot, only strive to restore balance.

George walked into the room cautiously, studying Teresa’s facial cues for the tears that never fell before speaking.

“He’s such a drama queen,” George offered, nudging her shoulder, trying to lighten the mood of how heavy the air of the room felt. He thought it was good for James to challenge Teresa in a way no one else would, and the overdramatics were spot on. “Ken Kardashian storming out of his own room. He should win a Razzie Award.”

The smile that appeared on Teresa’s face was tight and brief before she shook her head. “He’s right.”

\-----

James tapped his fingers against his jeans as he perused the wide expanse of books in front of him. He was grateful for the collection of books that had, like Peach, come with the safe house, and even more so that the packed bookshelf took up an entire wall in his room. He’d never considered himself an avid reader unless the backs of cereal boxes counted, but there really hadn’t been much to do at the CIA facility between the jobs he was tasked to do, so it was a habit he’d picked up.

“What do you think, Peach?” he posed in the direction of his feline housemate who had made herself very comfortable on the desk, purring away. “More Faulkner? Or should we mix it up and go with _Wise Blood_?”

Peach kept purring and looked at him judgmentally, as always, with no opinion shared on the literature choices at hand.

“Great,” James muttered to himself. “This is my world now. I’m talking to a cat.”

He decided on _Wise Blood_ and pulled it from the shelf. He flipped through the pages like a deck of cards and frowned at the scent of old, tattered paper he’d sent wafting into the air. James was about to look for the dedication page when the steady motor-like sound of Peach purring ended abruptly. He looked to the desk and Peach had stood up, staring out toward the doorway rather than at him.

James looked over his shoulder to see Teresa standing under the threshold. The setting on the alarm system that chimed each time someone opened an outside door was turned off a few days after the lockdown, after Kelly Anne nearly shot an innocent Chicho who’d walked out through the patio doors to enjoy a beer by the pool. The chime had made everyone a little paranoid, so now entrances were more natural. Teresa didn’t usually just stand and wait until someone looked up though.

James crossed the short distance to drop the novel he was holding onto the nightstand next to the bed, then turned around and walked toward her. Peach moved much quicker, jumping down from the desk and bounding out of the room like she’d heard a mouse scurrying by.

Teresa took a few steps into the room to meet James. When they were closer, James recognized the forlorn look in her eyes.

Flashes of the evening they’d had replayed like a reel in James’ mind. It had been a tough one indeed. The last time he’d seen Teresa, an hour or so ago, it had been through the scope of the M107, as he’d concentrated and took only small breaths in case he had to shoot. Her back had been to the window (and there was no way she could have gone into the meeting wearing a wire) so he hadn’t seen her face, didn’t know her reactions to anything that went down, and he heard none of the content discussed in the meeting. There’d been no communication between them since the afternoon, when they’d told each other to be careful, before James and George left early to set up in the building across the street from the meeting. Since they’d arrived there separately, they took different, winding routes back to the safe house, in case there were any tails to be warded off.

In the end, James hadn’t shot anyone but it didn’t mean he’d thought wrong. Someone got killed. Based on the look in Teresa’s eyes, he gathered she wasn’t taking the consequences of the meeting well.

“Are you hurt?” James asked once they were standing right in front of each other, his hands in his pockets.

He gave her a once-over, as if doing so could help assess any physical damage. Teresa had on a white suit. There was not a single stain or wrinkle to speak of, no cuts or bruises on her visible skin, and no fragments of broken glass in her hair. James noted his sister’s necklace around Teresa’s neck, adorned between two others with dainty pendants and different chain lengths, like it belonged there.

Teresa blinked once and shook her head, looking away. “No.”

James stepped closer and caught her gaze so they were staring at each other. He saw mostly darkness in her eyes as she peered up at him, but all the light hadn’t gone out yet.

“Are you all right?” he followed up softly.

He watched her eyes go glassy as they brimmed up with tears. James’ question struck a nerve. It was the first time anyone had asked her that all day and somehow Teresa had known, even before she walked in the room, it would be James who asked. Truthfully, if she was being honest, it was probably the reason she’d walked over to his room.

“No,” Teresa answered weakly, her voice small.

The tears began to fall right when James stepped into her personal space, hovering his arm around her, just to be there. Teresa leaned into him, her hand grabbing onto his shirt, a fist scrunching up the fabric over his heart. James exhaled and took hold of her, one hand over her hair and the other at her waist to steady her.

With her cheek pressed to his shoulder, Teresa could feel James’ steady breathing and she tried to focus on it, to calm her gasping and heaving and emulate it. She was reminded of the night they’d taken Rolando to King George, how James had held her when she couldn’t handle it, when she tried to reconcile what they’d done as something necessary, to move forward, while she was broken up about Brenda.

She hadn’t had a reaction like that in a while. Maybe it was because she pushed everything down, like a smart queen should, or maybe it was because the body count piled up so fast before she could process the weight of any of the deaths around her.

Everything had a cost. Tonight, it had been her new ally in Oksana.

She’d been taken out by Kostya, her own family, shot in the head.

The meeting had been a way for Kostya to get them all in the same place. And when it came time to discuss details, to renegotiate terms, Devon was there after all. The Russians had always been his competitors for territory on the east coast. Kostya had been willing to split up the territory and back down on some fronts—turf war was bad for business overall—but he could never get Oksana on board for her territory.

Teresa’s name had come up in a conversation between Kostya and Devon, when Kostya had been putting out feelers and vetting her before taking the first meeting. It was the real reason why James had heard Teresa’s proposed business with the Russians was drawing heat; Devon didn’t want Teresa to be the reason months of planning with Kostya went belly up. In the end, he didn’t care if Teresa was in or out, if she complied or not, just that she didn’t stand in the way when Kostya ended his relationship with Oksana—permanently—and forged a new one with him.

Castel’s MIA status, coinciding with his dealings with Kostya, had been a bonus for Devon. He’d prided himself in having the reputation of making brutal acts beautiful in the cartel world. With Castel missing, he had an excuse to threaten rather than protect Teresa’s interests. Ordering Pote’s house be burned down was for show, merely a reminder of the power and reach he had.

Oksana was dead. That couldn’t be walked back. But quick on her feet, Teresa saw an opportunity present itself, a little bit of light, for Oksana meeting her maker to not be totally in vain.

Teresa told Devon they could help each other, because they each had something, or rather someone, that the other wanted back in their respective corners.

_“And what is it you want, Miss Mendoza?” Devon asked in a way so polite on the surface that it was offensive._

_“James.” Teresa said simply. “Consider his business with you finished.”_

_The look in Devon’s eyes had been full of fury. “That’s steep, Miss Mendoza. I’m nowhere near done with Valdez and you’re not exactly in a position to bargain. If you’re going to pay someone’s debt off, there must be greater incentive than what is owed to me.”_

_Teresa knew that where James was concerned, it was all about blood and depravity for Devon, someone to get down in the dirt while he kept his hands clean._

_“I have Castel,” Teresa said confidently, staring Devon down. “I’ll deliver her to you. You put her back in play to continue to her business in Colombia, with the coke farm and her friends in high places—everything. I have the transportation to move the product. Kostya gets it on the street. Everybody wins.”_

_“Even Valdez,” Devon sneered._

_“Yes.” Teresa nodded. “Nothing comes cheap. Not even me.”_

_“You’re bold, Miss Mendoza. I’ll give you that.”_

_“Castel’s more valuable to you than James. She’s connected. Isn’t that why it’s taken you this long to make good on your promise, that we would see each other again? Because she bet on me?” Teresa remembered what James had told her; Devon knew the gameboard. “Even if you refuse, James can just keep running. This is a good deal for you.”_

_Teresa knew it was a risk to imply that she knew James had run, that she and James were in communication. But if it meant he wouldn’t have to be looking over his shoulder for Devon, if it meant Devon wouldn’t be after him to kill him, she thought it was worth the risk._

_“Is this where he ran? Did he warn you I’d be on my way? Is that bastard here, watching us now?” Devon’s laugh was sinister, almost maniacal, when he finally agreed. “Well, Miss Mendoza, you deserve each other.”_

Teresa trembled to think of Devon’s laugh and felt queasy over her dealings for the day—those were the things that had gotten her worked up and made her cry. Three months ago she’d talked about steering the ship right, moving into legitimate businesses, ending relationships with people like Boaz and Castel who were willing to kill their own families. Now Boaz ran Miami and she’d added Kostya to the collection. Teresa didn’t know where Castel was but she’d have to find her in a hurry.

So wrapped up in the day’s work, Teresa didn’t realize she hadn’t been able to focus on James’ breathing pattern or that he’d sat her down on the bed until he was pulling away. He moved her hand away gently when she caught his arm, and he leaned down and touched her shoulder.

“Are you…going to sleep in here?” James asked awkwardly.

A few beats passed before Teresa answered, after a silent debate in her head of whether or not it would be appropriate. Undecided, she ended up asking James, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” James’ voice was strained and unsure, despite the affirmation. He gestured at Teresa’s outfit and indicated why he’d been about to leave her side in the first place. “I’ll grab other clothes for you. You don’t look very comfortable.”

Teresa almost let out a bitter laugh as he went to the closet. He really did know her better than she gave him credit for. She couldn’t fool him. Donning a white suit was not only for superstitious protection, but a power move, something to set her apart, something to remind everyone who they were dealing with. But apparently to him she just looked out of sorts. A broken down mess.

When James was back in front of her, he handed her a plain black t-shirt and shorts. He had more clothes, for himself, tucked under his arm. “I’ll be right back.”

Teresa thought it was ridiculous, to give each other privacy when there was virtually none between them. They’d undressed each other and seen each other naked before. They’d slept with each other more than once. But it was more than that. There was a different kind of nakedness, an intimacy between them that never went away, not when they were in different places and not when they tried to _make_ distance.

But Teresa knew James, too, like he knew her. She knew the distance between them was on purpose, even when they were right in front of each other. When he’d opened up to her, let himself be vulnerable, she’d made a mistake and questioned his loyalty. For someone like James, that hurt so much more than the depravity of their work. Teresa hadn’t known, either, when she’d tried to make amends and asked him to run the business in Phoenix, he’d already decided to leave – another act of loyalty to her.

“James,” Teresa’s voice rang out. “I…”

He was already outside the threshold, about to close the door behind him. He leaned against the door frame and settled his hand on the doorknob as he looked back at Teresa.

She didn’t finish her sentence, opting instead to stare back at him with apology in her eyes. She knew he must have felt cornered when she showed up to his room. There was a difference between the things James did because he wanted to and the things he felt he had to. She suspected that these days, after the way she’d let him down before, comforting her and being there for her felt more obligatory than anything else.

“It’s okay, Teresa,” he spoke softly.

Teresa saw and practically felt the warmth in his eyes as he went, shutting the door behind him. He’d done so much for her in exchange for nothing but grief in return. He deserved better. It was why she hadn’t hesitated and boldly made the deal with Devon.

As she undressed, flinging her perfectly pressed power suit into the basket with the rest of James’ dirty laundry, she stopped and groaned, in frustration, for a moment. The worst part of what she’d done was that she’d have to tell James.

She had an idea of how it would go. She’d explain the night’s events to him and reveal the deals she made, with Kostya and with Devon. He would be mad about it, because he’d been part of her decision, and he’d leave. The last time she’d wanted him to stay, she’d been too late. This time she’d jumped the gun. She and James felt so strongly about protecting each other yet somehow they hadn’t been able to do it properly, _together_ , not since the dog days of Dallas.

Teresa wanted James to be okay, to have some semblance of being _happy_. She wanted him to be happy with her in his life, somehow, however that looked. But she didn’t know if they could even come together and meet in the middle. She was still trying to play the long game, getting pulled deeper into the underworld, with the promise of legitimate businesses far off in the distance. He seemed pretty done with their world, like he wanted the distance to be the now. They both carried on doing bad things, but where it made Teresa more powerful, James seemed to be doing it only because he had the skill for it and felt a moral obligation. Teresa didn’t want to be the one who kept hurting him, in an endless undecided cycle of pushing him away and drawing him near.

She’d turned out the light, changed into his clothes that were too big on her, and gotten into bed by the time James was back. She was crying again when he settled in on his side of the bed, within reaching distance, but hands to themselves. At first they merely watched each other in silence in the dark as Teresa’s tears pooled and then fell from her eyes.

After a while, James closed the distance and touched her face. Teresa held her breath when he wiped under her eyes with the pad of his thumb. Then he held her jaw, his fingers at the back of her neck.

”You’re gonna be fine,” James said.

Even in the dark, Teresa could tell his words were sincere—with conviction—but his actions were reluctant and uneasy. Like even the comfort he gave her pained him, unsure if it was what either of them really wanted or needed.

Teresa realized he thought she had been rattled by what had gone down, seeing another woman in charge take a bullet to the head, and fear that it could’ve been her or that it was her fault. But Teresa had become pretty numb to the bloodshed. It was almost scary, how little Oksana’s body on the floor had made her flinch. What scared her the most was the thought that James wouldn’t know how to be there for her, or wouldn’t want to, because of the ways they’d both changed. It scared her that she might be the one who hurt him the most.

Teresa moved closer to James. When their knees bumped, she couldn’t take it, knees being the only sad excuse for skin-to-skin contact when they were right next to each other. Hadn’t she come to his room for comfort, after all? She pressed herself into his side and let her arm fall against his chest.

Upon his wince and instant recoil, Teresa realized the tip of her elbow had landed right over his still healing bullet wound.

With a grimace, he pushed her away by the shoulder, until she was on her other side, facing away from him. She went easily, without protest.

“Sorry,” Teresa apologized with a gasp. “James, I’m so sorry.”

She was apologizing not only for pressing on his wound but for _everything_ , preemptively, for the tough spots she put him in and for what she’d done that he didn’t know about yet. She really did know how to do a number on him, she thought, inflicting pain like a flame that burned him to let him know they were both still alive.

Yet after a few minutes, she felt the bed shift beside her and James settle in behind her. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around her waist. Teresa didn’t try to get any closer for fear of hitting his chest again. Instead, she covered his hand with hers. Finally, Teresa could focus on James’ steady breathing without all the white noise. Resolved to rest and wait to tell him about her mishaps in the morning, she fell asleep to his warm breath dancing along her neckline. It was just nice to be held sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we finally get out of James' room and say goodbye to the safe house!
> 
> [Extended Chapter Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/637571792304816128/throwing-copper-extended-chapter-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, kudos, like, reblog, etc! Your feedback is always appreciated. <3
> 
> Don't look now but the chapter count went up. :X


	3. Why We Ever

James woke to Peach’s gentle but insistent paws prodding at his arm. When he tried to shrug away from the cat, she did stop, but immediately laid down beside him. He nearly chuckled in his drowsy haze, looking over at Peach, who seemed to be settling in for a morning nap. James picked his head up from the pillow when it registered with him there was another figure in bed, seeing a pair of legs behind Peach. Squinting against the morning light through sleepy eyes, his gaze landed on Teresa, who was sitting in bed next to him, legs crossed at the ankles in front of her.

From the look of it, she’d been up for a while. She wasn’t under the covers and she was no longer in the clothes James had given her to sleep in the night before.

“Morning,” James greeted, his voice scratchy.

Teresa didn’t look up from what she seemed to be heavily engrossed in, her acknowledgement of him a mere murmur, “Morning.”

With a groan, James fell back against the pillows. “What are you doing?”

Teresa was reading _Wise Blood_ —the book James put down on the nightstand on his side of the bed the night before—and didn’t respond until a few seconds had passed.

“I wanted to know if there was something to it, the way you’ve been passing the time reading all these books,” she said.

“And?”

“It’s okay, I guess.” Teresa closed the book without saving the page she was on. “Kind of morbid though.”

The corners of James’ lips upturned slightly. He thought it was ironic of her to observe morbidity in literature, as if their own lives didn’t have a sick and twisted morbidity deeply ingrained.

“I haven’t read that one yet,” he shrugged, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

Teresa put the book down on the bed and reached over to the small table next to her side of the bed. She had a mug cradled in her hands when she sat back against the headboard. She took a small sip before she met James’ gaze and spoke, “There’s coffee there, on your side, if you want it.”

“Oh.” James recognized the scent of coffee wafting in the air, but he didn’t realize it was coming from both sides of the bed.

He turned over and leaned against his elbow for leverage. The nightstand next to him was cluttered with the usual things—gun, switchblade, watch. He saw his sister’s necklace, the one Teresa had promised she’d give back when she returned from the meeting with Kostya, arranged neatly in the center. In place of where the book had been was a mug identical to the one Teresa had in her hands. James sat up, letting the duvet bunch up around his waist before reaching out for the coffee.

“Might be a little cold,” Teresa warned. “I didn’t know what time you’d be awake.”

James picked up the mug with one hand and brought it to his lips. “No, it’s great.” He took one large gulp of the black coffee. It burned a little going down – strong and acidic, the way he liked it. “Thanks.”

Teresa flashed him a quick smile before going back to her own coffee. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, giving James some time to think about how her gesture of bringing him coffee was appreciated and, like when she’d done his laundry, felt quite domestic.

James contemplated what an early morning of everyday things would consist of if they were different people, in a different life. He wondered if she would make fun of his bedhead and if her laughter would fill up the air in the room when he reached over and pulled her closer, threatening to not let go unless she stopped squirming, until the book they’d been reading toppled to the floor, forgotten. He wondered if they’d let their coffee run cold.

But they were not other people and time could only stand still long enough for that bleak fact to come creeping back in. James was reminded of this when Teresa made mention of their reality. “There’s food, too, but I didn’t want to bring it in here and make all your stuff smell like anything other than coffee.”

James raised his eyebrows. “You made breakfast?”

It wasn’t meant as an insult, though Teresa was not exactly known for her culinary skills. The last time they’d lived together, at James’ house in Phoenix, she’d spent even less time in the kitchen than he had.

“No, but Pote cooked last night when we fell asleep,” Teresa admitted. “I can warm it up.”

Looking at her blushed smile, over the prospect of flautas or sopes reheated in the convection oven, James thought about how this was the first time he’d woken up next to her. The bed had always been cold next to him in the mornings, after they’d slept together. Yet now, after literal sleep, there was the comfortable silence between them and food on the horizon.

Knowing Teresa as well as he did, James knew her waiting around for him to wake up, with offers of coffee and leftovers were her gestures of gratitude. He’d been there for her the night before, in the way she needed him to be. She’d needed someone to ask her if she was okay and to not have to answer for it when she wasn’t. She’d needed his strength, so she could be soft.

James shrugged. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Okay,” Teresa said as she stood up. The motion disturbed Peach, who moved closer to James. “Listen, we’re probably going to have a busy next few days. I’m gonna need your help. I’ll explain in the kitchen.”

James barely had time to agree before Teresa was out the door of his room. The way she slipped in the mention of a busy schedule made him think breakfast would consist mainly of a heavy conversation, with mole sauce only on the side.

He lingered in bed for a few minutes, until his coffee cup was half empty. Coffee was so much better with a morning cigarette and he wondered if it would be too cold to eat breakfast in the courtyard so he could smoke as well. He got up slowly and carefully to avoid interrupting Peach’s early cat nap. He was sure she’d venture out to the kitchen on her own, circling at his legs with her request to be fed, not long after he was gone.

When he made it to the kitchen, face washed and dressed for the day, Teresa was setting utensils on the island, humming under her breath. The safe house being on an old plantation estate, there was a formal dining room, where the group usually had dinner together. There was a table in the kitchen, too, with bench seating under a bay window on one side and cherry wood antique chairs on the other. The island counter seemed to be a last resort for place settings, because there were a few empty duffle bags on the table. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning and presumably everyone else in the house was still asleep, so it was unlikely anyone would come into the kitchen to join them, demanding a place setting and complaining there was nowhere to sit.

James nodded his head in the direction of the table as he approached the island, letting his hankering for a cigarette fall by the wayside. “Taking care of the locals today?”

Although his involvement in the meeting the night before was the extent of his participation in the day-to-day operations of Teresa’s business since he’d shown up, James knew all about the trouble with Judge Lafayette and he’d met Marcel. When duffle bags were involved, it usually had to do with cash exchanging hands, and where Lafayette was concerned, there was a lot of it. James had told Teresa to be prepared, for a retaliation of horrors, because she had taken a lot from the judge. Until that day came—because it _would_ come—the cash flow to Lafayette was regular.

“No,” Teresa answered, shaking her head. “Actually, one of those is for you, for your stuff, since you didn’t have a bag when you got here. We’re changing locations.”

“New safe house?”

“No, we’re…we’ll go back to the apartment. We don’t need to be here anymore.”

“You sure you want that many people at your place?” James asked, pulling out a barstool from the island and setting his coffee mug on the counter. “I know it’s the penthouse apartment but I thought you said there were only three bedrooms.”

He was keen to know how and why it was safe to leave the safe house, and if it was related to what happened during her meeting with Devon and Kostya, especially given how rattled she’d been after. He’d figured if her Devon problem was solved, and he’d seen it through, then that was the end; back to the drawing board to figure out his own Devon problem, and on his own. But Teresa’s request for help which she had yet to tell James about suggested otherwise.

“Kelly Anne and Pote are gonna stay at Javier’s old place since it’s empty now,” Teresa replied. Thinking of Javier and what went down leading to his demise, and Emilia’s, made her add a slight shake of her head. “It’ll only be us at the apartment. Well, Chicho, too—he’ll be posted at the door.”

James wasn’t quite sure how to react. The ‘us’ thrown in seemed pretty prominent, which could mean a bunch of different things. Was it innocent, just her offering a room in her house because he’d bared everything thrown at him in the worst room in the safe house for the last two weeks? Or was there implication that they needed separate space from everyone else, for the unspoken tension between them which grew as the days went by?

“I…” James cleared his throat. “I don’t want to impose. I can ask George about staying at his place.”

“Are you kidding?” Teresa practically snorted. “ _You_ would stay with George willingly? Being in this house wasn’t too much already? Come on, James, I know you barely tolerate anyone other than the cat here.”

 _And you_ , James thought.

He shrugged. “Well, whatever. It doesn’t have to be George’s. I can figure something else out. I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“You won’t. That’s why I’m offering,” Teresa said. “Besides, it’s not much anyway. It’s Tony’s old room.”

James knew Tony was a sensitive subject for Teresa—one of the reasons the light in her eyes was always flickering as of late.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” James answered with hesitation.

“I’m sure.”

“What about Peach though? She’s gotten used to regular meals and the litter box.”

Teresa chuckled as she opened the refrigerator. “Oh, right, you’re the Peach whisperer and the two of you are like a package deal now. Yes, of course, Peach can come, too.”

The smile playing on James’ lips was barely there, but satisfied. “Good.”

Setting down the bottle of orange juice she’d retrieved from the refrigerator onto the island counter, Teresa’s smile was broad and she rolled her eyes at him.

“So does that mean things worked out at the meeting? I mean, other than for Oksana.” James spoke again as he took a seat on his barstool. “You were able to negotiate with Devon and Kostya?”

Teresa sighed, knowing the moment of truth had arrived. It was a quick transition without preamble—from casual teasing about the cat to sucking all the oxygen out of the room in one fell swoop. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

James watched Teresa silently, waiting for her to go on.

“We need to find Castel,” she said intently.

When a few beats lapsed and Teresa didn’t elaborate further, James responded, “I know. I’m on it.”

“No, I mean we need to find her _now_ ,” Teresa emphasized with another sigh. “Or yesterday. Or last week. I created a deadline during the meeting, and time’s up.”

“Find Castel so you wouldn’t end up like Oksana, were those the terms?” James asked gently. It sounded like the kind of limited options Devon would offer—it was certainly something he was capable of.

“Not exactly.” Teresa didn’t mean to hide any of her blunders, but hoped she could ease into the topic carefully, give herself some solid ground before things got heated. “I told Devon I already have Castel.”

“ _What?_ ” James peered at her with disbelief, leaning forward on the counter. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Kostya knew he was going to take out Oksana long before any of us showed up for the meeting. He planned it that way, because he and Devon wanted to be partners, and they had to eliminate Oksana to do so, because she’d never agree. They used Kostya’s meeting with me to get everyone there—but they didn’t care about me, if I was going to get on board and transport the product up the East Coast—they just didn’t want me to screw up their plan,” Teresa explained. “But I couldn’t leave it at that, I couldn’t let Oksana’s death amount to _nothing_ , not when she made the introduction to Kostya. So I told Devon we’d exchange interests, and I’d be in business with them because I’d deliver Castel.”

James didn’t speak for several beats as he took in the gravity of the deal she’d made. He wrinkled his nose and ran a hand over his face, which usually meant he was anxious, trying to quantify how much deep shit they were in. It was always an uphill battle and getting knocked back down once they’d nearly grazed the top, over and over again.

After he scrutinized her words, he looked up to meet her gaze. “In exchange for what, Teresa?”

His voice was accusatory and his stare was intense, like he already had an inkling of the hand she’d played.

Teresa felt the squeeze of the fist around her heart and could hear the whooshing of blood in her ears before she made her reveal. “I told Devon I had Castel and I’d make sure she was put back in play, in Bogota and with the CIA, if he agreed not to go after you.”

James looked angrier than he had after the incident with La Capitana at the bar in La Paz, when he’d had to keep Teresa from overdosing after Leo sold them out. She’d never seen someone look so upset over having their life back, over being told they didn’t have to look over their shoulder indefinitely anymore.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” James said, clearly perturbed.

“I had the chance to get you out of danger, so I took it,” Teresa told him plainly, without remorse.

She often felt like she was treading water in the depths of the cartel world, going with her gut to make decisions while keeping her head above water. Sometimes she felt like she’d gone under and was holding her breath underwater, waiting until the very last second to come sputtering up for air. But when she chose to make a deal with Devon, for James, she’d had no doubt—she had clarity and purpose, and she could breathe underwater.

“ _Danger_?” James asked incredulously. “You made a business deal with Devon and you’re talking about danger?”

“I couldn’t not make the deal,” Teresa insisted.

“Why?” James was tense, fingers on his shooting hand running over his thumb forcefully—probably the only thing keeping him from slamming his fist on the countertop. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

A frown settled between Teresa’s eyebrows and she blinked away tears before they could form. She swallowed the lump of emotions blocking her throat. There was an irony to her actions. Doing something for James gave her new lungs, but explaining it to him made it hard to breathe.

“You know why,” she answered simply, unwilling to elaborate what she was sure they both understood.

Making her feel better and being a shoulder to lean on might’ve been things James did out of a sense of obligation. But turning up in New Orleans to warn her about Devon, and then being the overwatch for the meeting Devon had shown up to – those things were about something else. It was the same for Teresa. When the opportunity presented itself, for her to make James’ Devon problem go away, the reason she didn’t hesitate wasn’t because she felt she owed him or had to repay him. She did it because it was James. The things they took on for each other, actions strong enough to shift tectonic plates, they did because they wanted to. The only boundaries of their loyalty and love for one another were speaking about them out loud.

Teresa was right, and James did understand, because when he looked at her again, the warmth of his eyes was ebbing away at the anger held there. “Not sure I can exist without consequence,” James told her softly.

There it was, the proverbial axe Teresa had been waiting to fall. She’d managed to cool his anger by saying little, by reminding him of the unspoken care they had for one another, of the distance they had to make between themselves. It didn’t change how they felt about everything else. Where Teresa had shut herself off from feeling too much, caring too much—like he’d once told her to—he now felt too much.

There was a difference in what they’d experienced, she knew. She’d done her share of acting in self-defense and taking out those who deserved it, but she was the queen, the one to give orders. James was on the other side of it, the one who had to watch someone’s life go from their eyes and see everything go up in flames. For James, it was hard to reconcile the things he did without giving anything up in return. Teresa could imagine he probably thought surrendering to Devon, to protect her, and because of what happened to Suzie, was what he deserved.

“Are you going to leave?” Teresa asked. It came out before she could stop herself. She thought James might equate staying as not paying for his sins, as existing without consequence like he’d just said.

“I don’t know.”

Not no. But not a yes either.

Teresa turned away and busied herself with plating tamales from the convection oven next to the coffee maker so James couldn’t see her reaction.

“Where would you go?” she wondered.

When James had shown up, told her about the impending threat of Devon, he’d said he would leave when it was taken care of. He couldn’t have expected Teresa would take care of the problem by getting into business with Devon and giving him an out, to not have to worry about his own business with Devon. He hadn’t prepared for there to be _no_ fallout.

His answer was the same: “I don’t know.”

Teresa slid two plates, one tamale each, across the counter and James moved his elbows off the island to make room to receive his. He pulled out the stool next to his as Teresa walked around to join him. When she sat down, she didn’t swivel around toward her plate immediately. Instead, she stayed facing James.

“Listen, I won’t try and tell you what to do, because you should do what you have to, to make yourself whole, whether it’s here—because you are welcome here—or elsewhere.” When Teresa settled a hand on his forearm, he stopped picking at the corn husk in front of him and looked over to her. “At least now you have a choice.”

She was more familiar to James than she’d been in a while, earnest sparks in her eyes rather than flickering lights. James nodded his appreciation, letting the silence be the transition to the next topic of conversation, for the imminent matter at hand.

“Do you still have that tech guy doing work for you?” James asked. “Ivan?”

“Not lately, but the bridge isn’t burned. It’s been some time since we focused on the dark web part of the business. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me reaching out though,” Teresa said as she reached for the orange juice. “Why?”

“Can you call him now? Put it on speaker.” James answered. “I think he can help us find Castel.”

As the dial tone began and James asked her exactly how tight their deadline was, Teresa exhaled. She felt the same way as she had when James stepped out of the stolen car in the loading dock— _relieved_.

It was time to get back to business and work together. That, at least, they were good at.

\-----

“Hello?”

“ _Principessa!_ ” George’s voice was enthusiastic as ever on the other end of the line.

“Hi, George,” Teresa answered. “Where are you?”

“The biscuit is in the basket, baby girl!”

“What?”

“The horse is in the stable. The eagle has landed. Mission accomplished.” George huffed when he got radio silence in return, so he put it plainly instead, “We got Castel.”

“Oh. Okay, good,” Teresa exhaled. “Is she okay?”

“She’s…she’s in one piece,” George said. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

Teresa didn’t like George’s noncommittal response, but she supposed it had to be good enough for the time being. She looked over her shoulder, at James emerging from inside the apartment, when she heard the sliding glass door open and then shut again when he stepped out onto the balcony.

“Are you guys okay?” Teresa asked. “Are you on your way back?”

“We’re over the border, nearly to the airstrip,” George confirmed. “Hey, is the Giant Peach around?”

Teresa looked at James, who’d walked over and was standing at her side. She accepted the open beer bottle he held out to her. “Yeah, he’s right here,” Teresa replied to George.

“Oh, I’ll bet he is,” George guffawed. “Rico Suave and all.”

“Do you have a message for him?” Teresa asked, ignoring George’s implication.

“You tell G.I. James he’s the son of a bitch strategist I want in my corner if I ever find myself in the cage for a pirate’s version of UFC _Fight Night_!” George exclaimed. “His soldier boy shit came through.”

“Okay,” Teresa acknowledged, though she didn’t plan on quoting George verbatim. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Later, T-rex,” was the last thing George said before the line went dead.

Teresa dropped her cell phone on the arm of the chair she was sitting in and tipped her beer in James’ direction. It was nighttime and they were on the balcony of her penthouse apartment, under the recently installed pergola lit up with string lights. The glass table and metal chairs had once occupied the main space on the balcony but had been pushed to the far corner in favor of patio furniture. They were both staying warm by the heat emanating from the ceramic fire pit, seated next to each other in the wicker chaise lounges that looked out over the city.

“That was George,” Teresa informed James. “He says thanks for the legwork. They’ve got Castel.”

James reached over and clinked his beer bottle against Teresa’s. “I can drink to that.”

They were both on their second beer, and Teresa thought she might have to ask James to retrieve another round from inside the house as she took one long swig. She leaned back in her chair, letting her head rest against the cushioned backing. “We did it.”

The little lines around James’ mouth indented with a hint of a smile. “You did it.”

“No, not this time. Not without your help.” Teresa shook her head. “I think this one was all you.”

James had been tracking the mobile activity of Castel and her right-hand man, who she wouldn’t have been crazy enough to venture anywhere without. They must have had burner phones as well, but they had designated phones to use to contact Castel’s handler at the CIA, same as the kind James had before he fled, which was why he knew what to look for. But the phones were heavily encrypted—a safety measure taken by the CIA so there was no paper trail, no proof of their relationship with their informants. Every call made was rerouted to ping off a bunch of cell towers around the world, and kept the trail cold for anyone trying to track someone down that way.

The workaround, to get the real cell tower data, was to get a hacker like Ivan to decode the encryption. He’d worked straight through the night after James sent him the encrypted data. The last call Castel’s bodyguard made was two days before James up and left for New Orleans, consistent with when he’d heard Castel had missed a check in with her handler. What Ivan found was that all roads led back to Bolivia. The last outgoing call had been from deep in the jungle.

The topographical images showed a compound familiar to Teresa, and one she’d once returned out of the rubble from—El Santo’s. It was suspicious. If Ivan could figure that out overnight, why couldn’t the CIA? And why did Castel go looking for her biggest competitor, whose whereabouts were uncertain?

Teresa and James deduced it being one of two things: Devon and the CIA were setting another trap for Teresa, or Devon was about to get pushed out and reinstating Castel in high places with her powerful friends was a last-ditch effort for him to keep his influence at the agency.

The first scenario seemed unlikely, given that Devon had just gotten himself into business with Kostya, and Teresa had been right there, a witness to Oksana’s murder. It wasn’t clear if Devon’s new deal with Kostya was even above board and rubber stamped by the CIA. It did seem like Devon was the ultimate master of putting on a smoke show, playing up his role as the big bad wolf when really he needed Teresa to deliver Castel much more than he let on.

Maybe, it dawned on them, the CIA wasn’t looking for Castel because they weren’t desperate to have her found. Maybe Devon’s agenda at the agency was more trouble than it was worth for the agency. When Castel had come to New Orleans, she’d mentioned trouble with smaller farms cutting into her business, poaching partners like Teresa away from her. If the CIA had her in their pocket, but she was no longer the big fish at the top of the food chain, then she was no longer their biggest priority in terms of the drug lords they propped up. When any government got involved with blow, it was always messy.

Teresa decided it was better to deal with people like Devon and Kostya, because at least she understood their level of insanity, especially since James had warned her about going down the rabbit hole with covert government operations. She and her associates were outlaws, after all. A government agency that sheltered and propped up certain drug dealers in the name of _We the People_ could never be trusted. It was better to have a middleman, a liaison, between her business and the agency. So she still had to help Devon, still had to maintain her commitments to keep herself and her crew off the radar, and to keep James out of harm’s way.

Finding Castel and bringing her back became a rescue mission of sorts. Teresa had wanted to take charge and go herself, but with James around, advising against it—citing how close she’d gotten to death during her last two trips to Bolivia—she was convinced to send a team instead. Pote hated to agree with James, but reminded Teresa being at the helm of her business meant she should protect her assets, herself most of all, and let them handle it. Quietly, she remembered the hallucinations she’d had when she experienced _buena muerte_ and James being there to help her back both times without even knowing it.

Teresa insisted that if she was out, James had to sit it out as well, because he wasn’t technically in the clear until Castel and Devon were face to face. Pote had not been on board, especially with Javier recently departed, but George had been all over it. He’d offered up more of his men even though he’d had a sketchy experience with El Santo in the past, since the sicarios would need all hands on deck, leaving only a skeleton crew behind for Teresa’s personal security detail. James was Teresa’s only real partner in crime in their absence.

A combination of George’s men and Teresa’s sicarios went into Bolivia on a plan James had drawn up, based on his old combat drills.

“Call it even?” James offered to Teresa. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Sure.” Teresa smiled but it didn’t quite reach to crinkle the corners of her eyes. “Even.”

Despite the high stakes of their mission, or maybe because of them, the last three days had been better than, perhaps, the last three hundred. Like looking in his eyes and searching for clarity, working with James again was like muscle memory for Teresa.

It was a push and pull, with her ready to go in and kick some ass, take some names, and him taking a breath, taking a step back to look at the big picture. Teresa remembered being out in the desert with him, when they’d searched for Epifanio’s tunnel. Of the people they saw looking for them after, James had said, _they’re not just cartel guys…that search, it’s sharp and efficient, and their weapons are military issue_. It took one to know one. Teresa and James never quite saw eye to eye on strategy, but their execution in the end was akin to something to write home about.

Working on an operation with him made Teresa curse the reasons why they’d ever said _I’m gonna miss you_ and _I’ll see you around_ a year ago, when they’d said goodbye. It brought back the feelings of longing, of wanting to coexist in the same space and move in the same direction, at the same time, together.

“It sucks doesn’t it?” James posed ambiguously, breaking into Teresa’s thoughts.

“What?”

“Getting what you were after, what you thought you wanted,” James said, “but not wanting it anymore once you have it.”

Teresa sighed, closing her eyes, squeezing them shut tightly and rubbing her hand against her temple. When she opened her eyes again, blinking slowly, she looked into the flames dancing in front of her and set her beer down on the concrete before pulling her knees into her chest.

“Didn’t mean to upset you,” James told her gingerly.

“I’m not upset.” Teresa shook her head, looking over at him. She didn’t realize he’d been watching her and had seen her physical reaction to the internal struggle in her mind. “I’m—I’m sorry, James.”

“For what?”

“For freaking out and needing you the other night. For doubting you and questioning you, when you’re always just trying to help me,” Teresa rambled, then paused to take a breath, because what she really wanted to apologize for cut at her the deepest. “I’m sorry for the things I’ve asked you to do. For the people you had to take out and people you had to bury. Even after I knew about what happened with Suzie, I still asked you to…”

Teresa trailed off without finishing her train of thought. She wasn’t meant to apologize, for she was the queen. She was supposed to stay icy and distant; sensitivity deprived. But she couldn’t help it with James. She couldn’t help the light leaking back in. It was different, because he was different.

“Teresa,” James’ voice was much closer when he said her name, after her voice cracked and she couldn’t continue. He abandoned his beer to sit with her, in the space she’d left on the end of the chaise. “I asked you to let me in. I’m not holding on to things from a year ago, things that were part of the job.”

Teresa squeezed her ankles. “You’re really going to sit here and say that when those things are part of the reason why you want out so bad?”

“I’ve been in the game longer than you have, and it’s been…it’s been different for both of us,” James said calmly. “I don’t hold you personally responsible, okay? But it’s like I said, I don’t know how long I can go on staying this numb, without atonement.”

“I think it’s mostly my fault you feel that way, all while I’ve gone over to the dark side,” Teresa replied. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Why?” James asked, frowning, and added, “I’m not.”

“Because we’re better at navigating all this together,” Teresa blurted out before she had time to think and bite her tongue. “It’s when we go our own ways and decide things on our own—and usually for each other—that everything falls apart.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Teresa’s words were like a punch to the gut; what they both knew but had always been unwilling to say out loud.

James’ presence was a reminder to Teresa of who she was and who she wanted to be. And there was a disconnect between who she’d become and who she wanted to be. She’d wanted to keep her head, to rise above from the way her predecessors had done things. Instead she was ruthless and full of vengeance, even when there was no payback to be made. She couldn’t escape unscathed, and James’ evolution more than proved that. James made Teresa want to make the world move even faster, so she could catch up to him and be back in the light, and not be pulling him back under.

But she wasn’t done yet. She wasn’t done.

James would be the one to break the silence when he breathed out and looked away. “Not really sure what I’m supposed to do here, or how to respond. I might be out of my depth.”

She could understand that. James had a history of being a doer, a show-er, letting his actions speak for his merit and intent.

What made everything so difficult and complicated was that it was so easy with them…until it wasn’t. Until it was about what was _real_. Teresa thought that was what had been their undoing in the end the last time around.

And if she was really going to be the strong woman she set out to be— _she who creates herself_ —didn’t she have to put everything on the line _with_ James and not just _for_ him? Even if only to be the one who got knocked down, so she could rise again?

“I said I wouldn’t tell you what to do, and I won’t, and I’m not asking you to choose this, not if you don’t want to or feel like you can’t, because I want you to be okay. I want you to be happy and have a future that doesn’t make you feel numb,” Teresa said boldly. She summoned the strength she had to do things for James without hesitation, for courage to communicate what she held close to the vest. “But I also don’t want you to walk away. I want you to stay.”

Teresa’s admission didn’t feel like a weight off of her chest at all, to tell James how she felt and what she wanted. Teresa’s chest felt tighter after, uncomfortable and more vulnerable than she’d let herself be for the first time in a long time. She thought she’d told him what she wanted before, with different words, when she’d said _I don’t want to lose you_. But actually saying the words out loud, with consideration of time and distance, and the feeling in the pit in her stomach, made her see they weren’t the same at all.

Feeling out of sorts, Teresa scrambled to get out of her chair, prompting James to stand up so she could as well.

“It’s getting late—”

“Teresa—”

She ignored James saying her name, low and husky. “—I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Teresa,” James uttered with his hands on his hips, stepping in front of her and blocking her path until she looked up at him.

“James…”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he said solemnly. “I’ll let you know.”

He looked scared, confused about what she’d said. James had grown used to Teresa’s mixed signals; they’d been dancing around each other and their feelings for so long. But Teresa being direct was new. Her dark side scared him, and he didn’t know to which part of her directness belonged to, light or dark.

It was surprising to both of them, really, that Teresa had verbally expressed what she wanted.

Teresa swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Okay.”

It bothered Teresa, even with the pit in her stomach from her honesty, as she slid open the balcony door, that she might’ve missed something. She lingered inside for a moment, with the door still open. James returned to his chair and lit a cigarette.

Her heart was already on the floor, but had she been entirely forthcoming? She’d reinforced that he had a choice, and he was free. But had Teresa even given James a reason to want to stay? Had she ever? Did he even know her desire for him to stay had many layers to it?

“James,” Teresa heard herself say his name so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.

But he turned to look over his shoulder, cigarette pinched between two fingers, his face illuminated by the fire and the string lights overhead.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“It’s not just a business offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty likely that the next chapter, meant to be the last chapter, is actually going to be two chapters. I can't write a short story to save my life. 
> 
> [Extended Chapter Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/638532627575586816/throwing-copper-extended-chapter-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated. <3


	4. Colorful Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating and tags have been updated. This chapter is NSFW.

Six minutes. From lighting the end to burning down to the filter, six minutes was the average time it took James to smoke a cigarette. He’d figured the time out once, after he’d read somewhere each cigarette he smoked knocked off about 11 minutes of his life expectancy, and he’d assessed if it was worth it to lose more of his life to smoking than the actual time he spent doing it. Considering the line of work he’d fallen into, considering he still hadn’t gotten out of it, and considering there were seemingly a million ways to die in the business of illicit drug trafficking before he fell ill from the poison he was ingesting into his lungs, he hadn’t found a good enough reason to stop.

The time he allotted to consider the last thing Teresa said out on the balcony was even less than six minutes. He’d already started smoking when she said his name so softly to get his attention, to say one last thing, before sliding the glass door shut and disappearing into the apartment. James didn’t give himself much time to consider what Teresa said because her words were loaded.

_It’s not just a business offer._

It was an offer, a request, a suggestion, and an ultimatum all rolled into one. It sent James’ mind reeling. If it wasn’t just business then it was…it was _everything_. And that made all the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He sighed when he butt out the cigarette into the ashtray and shook his head when he switched off the ceramic fire pit. The fire Teresa had started, with her soft tone and coy expression, could not so easily be doused.

James remembered sitting in Camila’s club in Dallas, smoking and squinting at Teresa when he’d told her she was trouble. At the time, it had seemed like, since her arrival, she’d upended his relatively normal routine of warehouse operations. He had no idea she would redefine what ‘normal’ meant entirely, or that ‘trouble’ didn’t even begin to cover what she would bring into his life. James was smart, always strategy driven, but so much of that went flying out the window when it came to Teresa.

So really, it made sense, what she’d said earlier in the night that prompted a long silence. They were better at navigating the complicated world they were in together. But as far as navigating what they were to each other and what their relationship was, it was a sea of loneliness.

James thought himself to be a pretty straightforward person. But Teresa was complicated—at least more complicated than he was—and confusing. He was used to her secrets and the way she kept everything close to the vest, hiding her feelings and always with her guard up. For her to be so direct with him was unnerving. It was almost threatening.

After gathering up the beer bottles they’d drunk from, James went back inside, setting the lock of the sliding glass door behind him. He set everything down next to the sink and turned on the tap. He poured out what was left in the last bottle Teresa drank from before she’d abandoned it, letting the flow of the water flush the amber liquid away down the drain. He then began the process of holding every bottle under the stream of the tap, swishing water around the inside, then tipping it upside-down until nothing was left. Nothing screamed “frat house rager” instead of “luxury penthouse apartment” more than the smell of stale beer residue in the morning.

When he was done dumping the bottles into the recycling bin, he turned around to be met face to face with Peach. She’d already been fed and had been given new toys to play with in the move from the safe house to Teresa’s place, but the stare Peach leveled James with was still full of attitude. James wondered if cats understood the concept of disappointment, and if a cat could look at a person with disappointment. He was pretty sure, looking at him the way she was, Peach was chastising him.

Although he’d only taken a short time to consider what Teresa had said, he was stalling, and it was like Peach knew it.

James walked toward the back of the apartment, where the bedrooms were, and stopped in the middle of the hallway. He tapped his fingers on the leg of his jeans. He sighed before going into the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He knew he had to go and say something to Teresa after the terse way she’d left their conversation on the balcony. She had a way of leaving things in the air between them, but this time he couldn’t leave it at that, not when she’d told him straight up, for once, what she wanted. But the less than six minutes it had taken him to smoke a cigarette plus the time cleaning up the beer bottles were not nearly long enough for James to organize his own thoughts, and he searched for the right words as he gurgled mouthwash. He always tried to make his actions and words line up, but he could admit he was better with actions than with words; he knew he didn’t always say the right thing.

But it wasn’t all on him. He and Teresa had a glaringly obvious communication problem. After washing his hands and drying, James went past the open door to his room and stopped in front of the one adjacent and closed. He knocked a few times with a single knuckle and then scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, blowing out a breath.

James glowered at the door when after several beats it didn’t open from the other side and he didn’t hear any indication of movement. He winced. Did he have to knock louder? Had he waited too long? Was Teresa already asleep? He was certain his time spent smoking and stalling amounted to less than thirty minutes, and if he knew Teresa, she wasn’t the type to dive face first onto the bed and pass out within a few minutes. He didn’t know anyone in the business for whom sleep came so easily.

He raised his hand, about to knock again, when the door cracked open. He grabbed the edge of the doorframe on his side of the threshold to prevent himself from falling forward from the motion of his arm swing. Teresa appeared, just her head peeking out from behind the door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

James’ greeting got caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, his lips left partly open when he saw her. She had the same look in her eyes before she left the balcony: daring and suggestive. He wondered if she knew she was doing that, and if she could stop it, unlike the flickering lights.

Teresa opened the door wider, hand rested on the doorknob, and took a step forward so they were closer. “James? Are you okay?”

James stood watching her, slack jawed. Teresa was ready for bed, barefoot and tanned legs showcased by a tiny pair of linen shorts. Her tank top clung to her, riding up on one side, leaving skin at her midriff exposed. She was always beautiful, especially when she was dangerous, and that, perhaps, was what scared James about Teresa most of all. But James concentrated on her face, on the look in her eyes, and the questions she’d asked him.

None of the questions were about what she’d said earlier, or even close to specific enough. James gritted his teeth, stopping himself from wrinkling his nose or shutting his eyes tightly out of frustration. He tried to keep his tone even when he spoke. “You know, you can’t just say something like that and then walk away.”

He exhaled. His mind felt blank. It was what he meant to say, but he meant to use different words, better ones, if they existed. He wanted to get through to Teresa, like the time he’d told her _respect goes both ways_ , and they’d had a nice moment of understanding—an open line of communication—before Pote so graciously interrupted.

James didn’t have to worry though. They were alone in the apartment and Teresa knew what _that_ meant, the ‘that’ he was referring to. Teresa let go of the door handle, letting the door swing open the rest of the way, so James could see into her room.

“What do you want me to do?” Teresa said, putting her hands on her hips and moving even closer, so she and James were breathing the same air. “Convince you?”

Teresa was close enough that James could see how shallow her breathing was and could see the flames dancing in her eyes. They screamed _Danger! Danger!_ but drew him in, the heat ever so inviting.

It dawned on him then that Teresa knew exactly what she’d done and what she was doing. If he strung all her words together, then what she meant was she wanted him to stick around, not just for business but for _them_. For there to be more between them. Because she knew as well as he did the omniscient tension always in the air was about loyalty and love and most of all, lately, _lust_.

James let go of the door frame and took a step forward, crowding Teresa so she had to take a step back and they were both in the room. The tension in the air was sizzling and the silence so loud James’ ears were ringing.

“No,” James answered gruffly, his voice sending a shiver down Teresa’s spine.

Her eyes widened as James continued to invade her space, until she’d run out of steps to take and her back was up against the wall. “No?” she asked.

Teresa had left the balcony in such a hurry, panicked by the way James had looked at her with scared eyes. But now the look he had was fiery, almost wolfish. She was also pretty sure they were both nearly vibrating with anticipation, on the cusp of snapping the tension built up between them over the last two weeks.

Shallow as her breathing was, she only had the chance to take one more deep breath before James’ lips were ghosting over hers. “No,” he repeated in a harsh whisper against her mouth.

Then they were kissing, his hands cupping her face and her hands running through his dark hair. He tasted like wintergreen and something Teresa couldn’t quite place, something so uniquely _James_ , a welcome familiarity she’d been aching for. The scratch of his beard against her face and the brush of the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip and the trace of his thumbs on her cheeks spread heat all over her body.

Teresa pushed on James’ chest, away from the wall, and felt around for the door. When she found it, she pushed his shoulders so he was up against it, closing behind him with a click. Teresa felt James smile into the kiss at her eagerness and they broke contact only to trade places, so he had her pinned in place, a knee shoved up against the door between her thighs.

When he ran his hands down her sides to her waist, Teresa settled her hands onto his shoulders for support as she went onto her tiptoes and then left the ground altogether, held up by the door and his knee. James moved his arms down, his hands sliding between her lower back and ass, thumbs digging into her back dimples. They were pressed right up against one another and Teresa grinded her hips down on him as James shifted his attention, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, and causing him to groan against her collarbone.

Teresa felt James’ grip change as he shifted her weight so he was holding her under the backs of her thighs. She clung to him tightly as she was lifted away from the solid structure of the door. It was only a few strides to the bed and he walked them there gracefully. James set Teresa down on the bed gently, hovering over her, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He kicked his shoes off easily, toe of one foot against the heel of the other for each one. They observed each other in the dim light cast by the lamp on the bedside table, both taking deep breaths, as he rid himself of his socks as well.

Teresa made room for him to settle between her legs as he moved up the bed. He pressed his forehead against hers, then moved back and touched the tip of his nose to hers, blinking rapidly but watching her, his gaze electric. Teresa felt herself blushing. They weren’t even naked yet but the gesture was intimate and set off butterflies in her stomach. Not knowing what to do with the feeling, she took his face in her hands, bringing him down closer to meet her kiss. She moaned into his mouth when his hand ghosted up over her ribcage under her tank top and to one of her breasts, his calloused thumb brushing roughly over the bare skin of her nipple. She ran an ankle up one of his legs and frowned when she was met with the tepid feel of his jeans rather than skin.

She broke from his kiss and complained, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

James chuckled under his breath and pulled up on the hemline of his Henley, until the shirt was up and over his head, shucked off to the side. The action disrupted his hair, a few stray locks curling over his forehead. Teresa took in the sight of his skin, eyes roaming over his tattoos and scars, and the nasty bruise left by the gunshot wound on his torso. She bit her lip, thinking she’d never seen him look so beautiful before. She got to work on his belt buckle and shoved down at the tops of his jeans once he had the button and fly undone. He had to move more weight onto her and straddle her awkwardly to get his jeans off and abandoned on the floor, but they made it work.

“Better?” he asked between kisses when he was settled back over her, pressing his groin tightly against hers, so she could feel the strain of his arousal through his boxer briefs.

There was still fabric between them, shorts and underwear, but the sensation of their hips grinding and legs tangling could be better felt, and Teresa appreciated it. She’d missed this—missed _him_.

Teresa hummed her approval as she felt James’ hands combing down her body. She rushed to get rid of her shirt, throwing it haphazardly to the bottom corner of the bed, dangling on edge. She was eager to feel the heat from his fingertips on her skin. She watched him watching her, the rise and fall of her chest as he stared at her breasts. When he’d had his fill, he took a nipple in his mouth, sucking gently, while he palmed at the other breast with a hand. Teresa whimpered at the combination of the push and pull, and whined when he added his teeth, scraping gently over her pebbled nipple. James splayed out his free hand low on Teresa’s stomach so it was occupied, dragging down slowly, and Teresa wanted to burn at his touch. But James was the one who groaned when Teresa bucked up against him hard and dug into the flesh of his ass with her nails.

He removed his mouth from her breast and Teresa caught a glint of mirth in his eyes as he pulled back a little, making room for himself.

“What are you up to?” Teresa wondered breathlessly.

James didn’t respond, only started trailing hot open-mouthed kisses from her breastbone toward her bellybutton in a neat line. Teresa’s breath caught in her throat when his warm breath tickled right over her belly button and he carried on as her abs clenched, kissing until he was right at the waistband of her low-slung shorts. He paused to look back up at Teresa, quirking an eyebrow at her as if to ask if he should continue.

He had her permission and Teresa nodded emphatically, biting her lip but not bothering to hide her excitement. James hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and panties, easing both down her hips together in one fluid motion. Then she was exposed, totally naked, and James was pleased to see her already wet and slick.

Teresa jolted when James dropped his head and placed a kiss on her clit without warning.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she cursed, when he followed it up by licking a stripe down her slit.

He laughed at her swearing but it was muffled by her folds, his voice vibrating through her skin. He swept his tongue up her slit assertively, in firm but short flicks, and Teresa gasped, struggling not to yelp.

James adjusted her legs so they were up and over his shoulders, giving him better access, and started sucking on her clit. Teresa lost the war with not crying out then, pushing her pelvis up into his mouth shamelessly as more expletives fell from her own. He’d already made heat spread out all over her body before she spewed out colorful language, but the skill of his mouth, the scratch of his beard with each movement, and the pressure of his fingers on her hips burning her skin made a full body sweat break out.

The energy coursing through Teresa’s veins in response to his ministrations was carnal, one hand gripping at his tattooed shoulder beneath her and the other grasping at his dark hair. She wasn’t sure how he kept going, kept moving, with the way she was holding him, but he did, of course he did. He brought her closer to the edge, to the intangible wave of pleasure just out of reach, as he alternated between licking at her and sucking on her, occasionally snaking a hand up her body to cup her breasts.

He could feel the tension in her body building when he tugged at the taut lips of her labia, caught between his own lips, before he dipped his tongue inside her slick core. Teresa cried out again and pressed her knees to his ears.

“James,” she whined his name. “Please, I’m so close.”

He took mercy on her, bringing his mouth back to her clit but slipping two fingers inside of her. She was shaking and moaning almost as soon as he started moving his fingers and she came when he curled them just right.

He kept his mouth on her and continued stroking his fingers inside her, drawing out her orgasm, both her hands gripping his hair. He looked up at her after, in her beautiful agony, chest heaving, lips parted and panting from what he’d done to her. He knew she’d ridden out the wave and returned to herself when she loosened her grip on him and then let her wrists relax, giving him a chance to rise from the bed.

James gave Teresa a small smirk when she looked back at him, meeting his gaze. He slid his hands up her thighs, ready to move up the bed and settle over her. But instead, Teresa sat up to meet him, getting a sharp taste of herself on James’ tongue when they kissed. He followed her lead when she scooted off the bed and stood, turning so he was sitting at the end of the bed. He pulled her closer so his arms were wrapped around her and he dragged his bottom lip over the underside of one of her breasts, staring up at her as he did it.

Teresa brushed his arms away, so they came to rest on either side of him, palms pressed into the bedspread. He expected her to climb into his lap, but she went the opposite way, dropping to her knees in front of him.

“Your turn,” she said, grazing her index finger over the dark smattering of hair under his belly button and downward.

“Oh,” James heard himself reply, and heard a tremor in his voice that sounded surprised and turned on at the same time. “You don’t have to…”

But she’d already pulled his boxer briefs down past his hips when his sentence trailed off, freeing his erection, hard and at attention.

“We’re in this together, right?” Teresa asked. The grip of her warm hands on him, stroking his thick length, was so firm James hissed. He managed to nod, despite himself. “So let me take care of you.”

Any further protest from him was forgotten when she swept her tongue against the head of his cock. He couldn’t stop the groan he let out when she took him in her mouth.

“Damn,” he gritted out, a hand moving out to cradle the back of her neck, fingers getting caught in the curls of her hair. “ _Teresa_.”

She smiled at his response, some of her teeth gently scraping against the sensitive skin of his stiff length. James looked up at the ceiling, feeling lightheaded from all the blood in his body that seemed to be rushing toward one region only.

He was tense the whole time, labored breathing making him dry heave and grunt under his breath, while Teresa was all talented mouth and hands.

When she looked up at him from under long lashes, cheeks hollowed in as she worked him, James grabbed her somewhat roughly, pushing her away by one of her shoulders, thumb steady on her collarbone.

“I can’t—I won’t—” James struggled to form a functioning sentence to explain his state, breathing hard.

When he put himself on the path of working with Devon and the CIA, to protect Teresa’s interests, he’d known what he was getting into. The entire last year had been spent, basically, as a government sanctioned criminal, so he could keep tabs on Teresa from afar and plan his escape for the right moment, to get word to her before anyone got to her. It also meant he hadn’t been with anyone since the last time he and Teresa were together.

So if he was going to get them both off before the night ended—he _wanted_ to get them both off and not be completely useless—then what he needed was for Teresa to not do him any special favors.

The tension between them had gone when they closed the bedroom door behind them, but their understanding of each other, apparently, had not. Teresa seemed to accept his incomprehensible words, sliding his boxer briefs down his legs and off the rest of the way, then—when she stood back up—held the side of his face and kissed his temple.

The light in both their eyes had gone dark when James reached out to bring Teresa flush to him. “C’mere.” His voice was rough and gravelly as he pulled her into his lap.

They were both so eager for more that the momentum swing caused James to fall back against the bed with a thud, Teresa on top of him. She liked the scratch of his facial hair against the soft skin of her neck as he kissed her there. James ran his hands over the dips between her shoulder blades and hooked his ankles around hers before flipping them, so she was on her back. Their hips aligned, his arousal pressing hard into the space between her thigh and mound, he readjusted his hands, one low on her ribcage and the other in her hair as their lips met again.

They stayed like that for a while, exploring each other. The grinding and the goosebumps were involuntary, little fires breaking out on every inch of skin that received attention. When the desperation built so high their breathing was short-winded, James moved his weight off of Teresa to hover over her.

His warm breath wisping at the shell of her ear made her raise her torso toward him, wanting friction. James nudged her knees further apart, giving himself more space between her legs, but let a hand drift down to one of her hips, holding her flat against the bed.

“Teresa, do you have—”

“On the pill,” she interrupted, practically gasping with want, biting his lip after to silence him.

She’d been waiting for him to ask, and knew what his question was, if she had a condom. She knew he didn’t—not when he’d shown up in New Orleans on a whim and a bullet in his side, then spent the proceeding two weeks at the safe house. And at all times, James knew how to manage his expectations—it was part of what made him a good soldier. His actions showed how he felt about her, what she meant to him, when he’d sacrificed himself to protect her. But even though they’d missed each other and the sexual tension between them was palpable, Teresa knew he never expected anything in return. If he’d been furious when he found out she got into business with Devon and Kostya to protect him, then he definitely couldn’t have expected Teresa to come on to him and for them to end up in bed together in her apartment.

Teresa had decided to go on the pill when she started hooking up with Eddie. She’d figured it was part of the whole ‘normal’ experience she’d sought outside of the business; to take care of birth control for the sex which had been, frankly, quite vanilla. But there had been a steady stream of it and it had fulfilled her need to feel close to someone, and she’d liked having that. The whole thing seemed stupid and was very obviously irresponsible after Nashville, after not-normal came looking for her, and she broke things off with Eddie. But looking up at James with fire in her eyes, and seeing the smoldering look in his, Teresa was glad about the decision she’d made.

James’ lips curved into a soft smile—a rarity for him—and he kissed her forehead. “Okay,” he whispered.

It should have fanned the flames a little bit, the gesture being so sweet—a counterpoint to what they’d already done. But it made Teresa feel beyond desired for, _cherished_. Maybe even loved. It wasn’t just about the sex with James, and it never had been, not after everything they’d been through. And that made her crave him more. She appreciated that he took care of her and took his time with her, and she knew he would never hurt her. It all added up to desperately wanting to feel him inside her.

“Need you now,” Teresa vocalized.

James obliged. He tested her first, finding her still wet when he ran a hand over her folds, and hot when he slipped a finger inside her. He removed his hand to hike her leg up his right hip. He eased himself into her, letting her wetness coat him as he went, and when he pulled out a little, only to thrust back in, he was fully sheathed inside her. They both groaned, hers a sharp cry from her throat, and his low in his chest.

Teresa gripped his hips with her thighs at first, as he built up a steady but shallow rhythm. He kissed her throat and pinned one of her hands above her head. She moved her other hand down his back, feeling the contraction of his muscles as they moved together.

She gave herself time to revel in the feeling of their bodies joined together, savoring it, before she loosened the hold of her legs around him and asked raggedly, “Are you okay?”

James laughed against her neck after a moment.

“I think I’m supposed to ask that. And like, if we were teenagers…in the back seat of a car.” He lifted his head to look at Teresa, letting go of her hand he had pinned and stilling his hips. She could see the vein in his neck as he strained against himself with much effort to stop moving. The lines between his eyebrows indented when he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean your bruise,” Teresa replied, tentatively running her fingers over James’ abs on his left side as lightly as she could. He didn’t grimace when she did it, but she saw his jaw clench, and she didn’t know if it was from pleasure or pain. Three days ago he’d needed a few minutes to recover when she’d inadvertently hit him there with her elbow, trying to get close to him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

James took her wrist and redirected her hand, so her palm was flat against his chest and she could feel his heartbeat. “Don’t press on it and I think we’ll be okay,” he said.

James kissed her then and she gave in, tightening the hold of her arm around his back but removing the hold of her legs around his hips, opting to plant her feet on the bed. James took it as a sign to continue. The strokes of his thrusts were more spirited this time. Teresa turned her head slightly to look at James, nearly cheek to cheek with him. She could see his eyes were closed and could hear him breathing next to her ear, a stable pattern, like his heartbeat under her hand.

It wasn’t that the way James was fucking her wasn’t good. It was _really_ good, felt really good for Teresa. He buried his face in her shoulder and picked the pace up to a new driving rhythm, and Teresa moaned, because he made it feel even better. James seemed to be completely concentrated, trying to get Teresa to higher ground. But the last thing she wanted James to be tonight was _efficient_ , without regard for his own enjoyment. He did enough of that out in the world.

“James. Hey.” Teresa pushed him away from her shoulder and held on to the nape of his neck, forcing him to open his eyes. “Don’t…don’t overthink this, okay? Please. Just be here with me.”

He seemed to come out of his deep concentration, his mission mode. His eyes locked with Teresa’s halfway through her request. His movement slowed but it became much more intense in the moments after as they watched each other.

There he was, _her_ James, looking at her like she was a goddess and reaching a part inside of her, physical but not just physical, that had her back arching off the bed. “Mmm,” Teresa hummed. “Yes.”

James slid his arms under her, bringing her nearer to his chest, the tips of their noses touching again. Teresa’s eyes fluttered at the closeness. She yelped in surprise when, holding her close, James turned them over and repositioned so he was sitting with his back against the headboard, her in his lap straddling him, his cock pumping up into her. She whimpered at the change in angle driving him deeper inside of her and making her knees feel wobbly if not for the bed beneath them.

She and James stayed watching each other. The look of pure concentration on his face had been replaced by something softer, warm and dreamy. Teresa looped her arms around his neck and leaned down to kiss him, closing her eyes as she rolled her hips. His hands lowered to guide her movement and meet his upward thrusts. Her lips left his so she could throw her head back and she let out a strained sound, somewhere between a whine and a moan, as the pressure that had built up in her body neared an unbearable level.

James moved a hand between them, rolling her clit between two fingers, and Teresa gasped almost violently, hands scrambling to find purchase on his upper body before she went limp. She slumped against him and succumbed to the pressure as it broke, and then she was in free fall. She dug her nails into his shoulders as she came, shuddering and holding on to him as her orgasm took over her in waves.

Teresa was still recovering when James rolled them and she was on her back once more, head cushioned by pillows. She could feel the clench of her muscles gripping his cock, but he kept moving, drawing out aftershocks from her release, and chasing his own.

He wrapped her legs around his hips with no regard for his bruised torso. Teresa fisted her hands in the sheets to brace herself, as his thrusts became insistent and hard. James held himself up above her with his forearms on either side of her head. He caught her gaze and her heart hammered in her chest, not sure what to do with the fluttering feeling, but she didn’t dare look away.

She saw his Adam’s apple bobble in his throat as he swallowed. “Say something,” James requested breathlessly.

Teresa’s eyes widened and she let out a small gasp, feeling like air had been knocked out of her chest at his simple, soft plea. “ _Now?_ ”

He nodded silently as she put her hands on his back.

“I—what do you want me to say?”

“Just say something. Anything.” James’ whole body was trembling under her touch as his thrusts became stuttered and sloppy. “Teresa, _please_.”

Teresa’s vision went blurry, her eyes going glassy, overwhelmed by how intimate the moment was.

“I didn’t—I couldn’t—I felt like I was holding my breath the whole time you were gone,” she got out with honesty. “But since you’ve been here, I can breathe again.”

James groaned as he came, shuddering as she had, and bottoming out as he spilled inside her, filling her with warmth. He collapsed on top of her, panting against her neck.

The only sound in the room for some time after was their ragged breathing as Teresa ran her fingers through the waves of James’ hair, damp with sweat.

Teresa winced a bit when James pulled out and moved off of her, the post-coital ache settling into her body quickly but also the ache of missing the feel of him. He tipped her onto her side as he went, so they were facing each other, and hooked her leg over his. He settled a hand on her hip. Her eyelids, like her limbs, felt heavy.

“You good?” James asked.

“I’m good.” Teresa nodded against the pillow and whispered, “You good?”

“Yeah,” James said. His response included a half smile, with awe in his eyes for her and how much of herself she’d shared with him, openly vulnerable and not hiding as she usually did. Teresa could have said anything—and he’d told her as much—but it was her choice to get raw and honest.

James brushed his fingers over her cheek and leaned in closer to kiss her once, slow and languid. Teresa placed her hand on his chest after, on the same spot he’d put it earlier, where she could feel his heartbeat.

Neither of them dared to say anything else, as if there was a spell on the night which would only be broken if one of them said the wrong thing. They fell asleep tracing shapes on each other’s skin.

In the morning, Teresa was surprised to find James awake before her. The times they’d slept together before, she usually woke before him and could withdraw whatever limb she had strewn over him before slipping away undetected. But this time he was holding her; one hand on her back and the other wrapped around her elbow, presumably to prevent any mishaps of her hitting what remained of the bruise from his gunshot wound. She knew James was awake because when she edged away from his chest, he moved his hand up her back.

He didn’t stop her from moving away, from making space for herself, but he didn’t let go of her either.

“Hey.”

Teresa wiped the sleep from her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Hey.”

She became more aware of her nakedness when she was able to snuggle into the sheets. She pulled the duvet up to her ears and moved her hair away from her face, getting her first morning glimpse of James. His brown eyes looked especially soft in the morning light.

His expression was amused as he asked, “Sleep well?”

Teresa rolled her ankles and stretched out her legs. She felt stiff and sore. She must not have moved much in the night during her sleep, except to get closer to him.

“Mmmhmm,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” James responded without hesitation.

Tension fizzled back into the room but it was no longer of the unresolved kind. It was an associate of the feeling that had been there after sex, when both of them had been unwilling to break the spell on the night.

They’d both been brave the night before, to be able to share something more intimate than ever before. There wasn’t any regret, but it was hard to get to that place, to pretend to not be scared. _You don’t have to hide from me_ was so much easier said than done.

After a long pause, Teresa sighed and cracked at the tension with as much candor as she could muster up without squirming away or ending up in tears. “I don’t want to disappoint you,” she admitted softly.

They might have had great sex, maybe better than all the previous times before, but the added intimacy between them only served to complicate things more. The conditions were unchanged. The elephant in the room never left. They were still the same people who aspired for different stages of being in the business.

James stared back at Teresa and gave a knowing, sad smile before he answered, “The feeling’s mutual.”

Teresa pulled free of James’ grasp and groaned, holding the crown of her head. Her arm obstructed her view of him but she peeked at him with one eye. He didn’t look mad or worried or disappointed. At least not yet.

“Are we crazy?” Teresa asked.

Her question pulled a scoffed laugh from James’ chest. “Yes. That’s…that’s not even up for debate.”

Teresa smiled and chuckled before leaning back in toward him, pleased he was willing to lighten the mood at least for a little while longer. All their conversations were so serious and overwrought—storming out of rooms and walking away from each other—because usually their conversations surrounded actions which were a matter of life and death.

She moved in close, placing a hand onto his shoulder. When their noses were nearly touching, Teresa angled her chin to kiss his cheek before nuzzling against his neck. _I love you._ She thought it, formed the shapes of the words with her mouth but without sound as she dragged her lips over his skin.

She was sure of how she felt, could feel it ricocheting in her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud because she didn’t know if James had plans to include her in his immediate future, or if he’d go his own way, and permanently. She feared she’d already applied too much pressure, having basically told him she couldn’t breathe without him when they’d been in the act. She didn’t want to say anything more to make him feel like he had to stay; he had to make the choice on his own or else they would both end up hurt.

He watched her after, rubbing strands of her hair between his thumb and forefinger but concentrated, like he was studying her. Teresa felt a pang in her chest, the fist around her heart, wondering if James could tell what she’d spoken into his skin, if he could feel her emoting what was in her chest and read inside her mind. Looking at each other had always been the language they knew best. She hoped he could tell, so he knew she meant it, and not only because she wanted him to stay.

James couldn’t look away because the flickering lights had gone and there were stars in Teresa’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Extended Chapter Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/639463580825206784/throwing-copper-extended-chapter-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. <3


	5. This is Everything

“This one goes out to all the lionhearted women in our presence,” George declared, standing at the end of the table with his long shot glass of tequila raised.

The crew that went down to Bolivia had returned with Castel and her right-hand man Matias in tow. Everyone was gathered at Teresa’s penthouse for lunch out on the balcony. The glass table and metal chairs, once displaced off to the far side of the balcony for the fire pit and wicker chaise lounges, were once again the centerpieces of festivities, the pergola providing shade from the afternoon sun.

“Here’s to Kelly Anne, who charms us more and more each day with her wits,” George went on, “and to our friend and ally, Castel – a badass through and through.”

Kelly Anne beamed but Castel barely flinched. She blinked rapidly when her trusted companion, Matias, stopped the pinky she’d been tapping against the table from the moment she’d sat down. A thin smile came upon her lips but disappeared just as quickly. She glanced around but never met anyone’s eyes.

“Here’s to Miss Peach, who injured me the same day we met, so I knew she was a lioness for sure,” George added with a frivolous laugh, proud of himself for honoring _all_ the women who were present at the penthouse.

From the corner on the opposite end of the table from George, Marcel leaned in toward Pote’s ear to ask under his breath, “Who the hell is Peach?”

Pote grunted, his frown a straight line of displeasure on his face. “It’s the damn cat from the safe house. Teresita can’t help but bring strays into the tribe.”

Marcel respected Teresa, truly, but he’d always thought she surrounded herself with the oddest characters available. He’d been invited to Teresa’s for lunch with her crew. He didn’t realize lunch would be prefaced by sitting on a penthouse balcony talking in hushed tones with a sicario while a guy in a velvet tracksuit prolonged the speech he was giving by including a toast to a _cat_. Never mind that the supposed guest of honor, the drop dead gorgeous Colombian woman sitting across from him, had shifty eyes and a focusing problem.

Although Pote had been speaking of the cat when he mentioned strays, Marcel hadn’t missed the way his disapproving gaze had been cast on the person seated next to Teresa when he said it: James. But Marcel didn’t get the vibe James was a stray. Marcel thought it was Teresa who had once been the stray, who found her crew and made them her family along the way, in her rise to power. Marcel had met James twice and learned he was an old associate of Teresa’s who’d been laying low and had resurfaced with the sole intention of telling her she was in danger.

But reading their body language and the tension between them, like their own secret love song, Marcel discerned they were much more than old associates. He was well aware of who Devon Finch was and knowing Teresa had gone up against him before—more than once—was both confidence-boosting and terrifying. Marcel was constantly asking himself if he should even be associating with Teresa and her crew. Their operations bordered on too dangerous, too risky, even for a guy who ran the streets as he did.

For James to have the kind of information he did on somebody as powerful as Devon Finch made Marcel think James must be powerful in his own way, too. He thought James must also have a hero complex if he would risk everything to keep Teresa safe.

And then there was also the way it was so obvious Teresa and James were trying very hard not to hold hands, each of them convincing themselves, Teresa sitting with her hands under her knees and James cracking his knuckles against his jeans. Marcel would willingly throw a coin purse full of change down a well to know what they were thinking about each other—and he knew they were thinking about each other—probably a few things that would make him snicker. If the glass table wasn’t translucent, Marcel believed they’d be holding hands so tightly their knuckles turned white.

Marcel had lived in Louisiana his whole life. He knew the bayous had a strange effect on people, could get them off-kilter. But this—Teresa’s crew—they were like one spontaneous song and dance number away from a parallel universe.

Despite himself, Marcel returned his attention to the velvet tracksuit buffoon who was smiling from ear to ear as he completed his toast with one last dedication, to Teresa.

“And of course, here’s to T-rex, she who is small but mightier than all,” George said jovially. “Long may she run.”

Greetings of _cheers_ and _salud_ were doled out almost before George was done speaking, his toast having gone on too long. Everyone wanted to consume their tequila. Teresa smiled at George for a second longer and made sure their eyes met before she tipped her glass to him and took a long sip.

James, like everyone else, downed his shot quickly. He looked over to where Castel was while he waited for the bottle to get passed back around to his side of the table for a refill. Castel hadn’t touched her drink and was staring blankly ahead, almost tranced, like there was no one else around her even though she was surrounded by the people who’d gone on a rescue mission to save her. Beside her, the look of concern on her right-hand man’s face was constant.

Something was off. Something was wrong. James had spent enough time around soldiers dealing with shock and the aftermath resulting in PTSD to know, at the very least, Castel was rattled by her time in Bolivia. And that didn’t bode well for a cocaine queen who was the biggest player in Colombia, who had corrupt friends in high places plus Devon and the CIA to deal with.

James wiped his palm on the leg of his jeans and then bumped his knee gently against Teresa’s. He turned his head and looked over at her but she didn’t flinch, swirling the liquor in her shot glass, thinking it was accidental. James did it again and coughed into his hand, and then Teresa’s eyes snapped up to meet his. He raised his eyebrows and gestured back toward the apartment with his chin. She stared at him for a moment, reading the signals in his eyes, before nodding once.

From the outside looking in, they’d had an awkward moment of eye contact. But in their silence, they’d agreed to reconvene inside to speak freely where the rest of the group couldn’t hear them. James rose from the table first and it didn’t go unnoticed, because he had to walk halfway around the table and weave between a few chairs and the pergola posts to do so.

“Yo, kemosabe, what gives?” George asked directly, without subtlety, because that was not his forte. He was still on his feet after his toast. “Where the shit are you off to?”

“Gonna go feed Peach,” James replied casually before reverting to a bit of sarcasm, “you inspired me with your toast.”

“You’re blowing this popsicle stand with these fine people to go hang out with the cat?” George rolled his eyes and took a few steps back, to where the awning of the pergola wouldn’t cover him from the sun, and looked heavenward. “ _God_ , if you really are up there, for the love of everything good and holy in this world, strike down Ken Kardashian here and now.”

James smirked when no flashes of lightning came down from the heavens. An arms dealer pirate he might be, George was a gentle giant when it came to cute animals, and they both knew George found it ridiculous the cat would prefer James over himself. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, George.”

“See, now that’s where you’re wrong, Baby Chapo.” George puffed out his chest and pointed down at his attire. “Ain’t a single look out there that don’t look good on me.”

Without anything more than a scoff and the shake of his head, James ducked into the apartment. The door had to stay closed because of Peach’s presence, so she wouldn’t walk out onto the balcony and jump up on the railing. Peach was enjoying an afternoon cat nap on the couch but opened one eye when she heard the pantry door swing open. She had already made her way over to the kitchen and was seated on the floor on the side of the island by the time James set down her bowl in front of her. She mewled at James once, gratefully and without her usual air of judgement, before digging in. James resisted the urge to scratch behind her ears, because then she would expect him to sit there and pet her the whole time she was eating. Besides, he and Peach had plenty of bonding time given how little regard she had for his personal space.

James was washing his hands when the sliding glass door opened again and Teresa entered. But no one questioned the lionhearted woman (as George had described) in the white power suit. She didn’t have to rattle off any excuses as to why she was stepping away from the balcony. She looked at James but said nothing, continuing on her way and walking down the hall, the familiar sound of her boots clicking as she went.

The door of Teresa’s room was open when, after he finished drying off his hands, James followed her path. Seeing her tailored white jacket abandoned haphazardly on the bed, James checked the walk-in closet but she wasn’t there. He scratched at the hair on his jawline as he returned to the middle of the room, a quizzical look on his face until he noticed the door to the master bathroom was shut. James stayed where he was, checking to see how much of the activity out on the balcony—where everyone was seated—was visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows in Teresa’s room.

When Teresa emerged from the bathroom, she didn’t stop to pick up her blazer, walking straight to where James was standing. She crossed her arms over her chest, over the crop top showing off tanned skin and toned abs. Then her body language and James’ matched.

“What is it?” Teresa wondered, getting right to the point, skipping prefaces and pleasantries.

James rubbed his hands together as he thought of the right words. He rested his hands on his face by placing his index fingers against his chin and splaying his hands out against each other. He sighed and sniffed, scrubbing a hand down his face before letting his hands fall to his sides. He gestured toward the windows, where Teresa’s guests were seated around the corner of the wraparound balcony.

“That’s gonna be a problem,” James said.

“Who?” Teresa asked, with a gut feeling he was speaking specifically about one person. “You mean Castel?”

“Yeah,” James answered emphatically.

It was Teresa’s turn to sigh. She added a nod. “I know.”

“You should shut down this round of everyone patting themselves on the back,” James suggested. “You meet with Devon tomorrow.”

“I know that,” Teresa said with exasperation, not appreciating the reminder. “But the food’s not even here yet.”

Chicho had been relieved of door duty to pick up the Cajun feast that had been ordered for lunch.

“Get it rerouted. Send it to where Pote is staying or even the safe house, and then send everyone there.” James crossed his arms over his chest again. “Teresa, you need to talk to Castel, talk her through this… _do something_. If she shows up to meet with Devon as she is now, then the last week will have all been for nothing.”

With the safe house vacated, Teresa had instructed for it to be set up and stationed with a few sicarios for Castel and Matias, so they’d have a place that was private and remote for their short stay in the New Orleans area. The safe house was as good as burned anyway, too many people had been there, and Teresa would have to pick out a new one in the coming weeks.

The crew for the Bolivia mission had flown in from Chile late in the evening the night after Teresa spoke to George. Pote and George had stopped by the penthouse after arrival, but everyone else had gone straight to their accommodations. Teresa thought it would be a kind gesture to let Castel rest, because she would be on her way back to Bogota to manage her affairs not long after meeting up with Devon and her CIA handler on the weekend.

That had been a mistake. Teresa understood now why George had told her Castel was in one piece, but no more than that. She should have been waiting on the tarmac and she should have insisted Castel and Matias would stay with her, so she would have known how out of sorts Castel was as soon as she landed in New Orleans. Teresa had the space in her apartment; she and James had slept in the same bed for another night anyway.

She’d definitely need to have a chat with Pote and George, who’d let Castel be without letting Teresa know there was potentially a major issue. Her friends and protectors were down to do her bidding without question, so much so that they could be insensitive to the context of what they were tasked to do, equating everything with the same level of danger and thrill. That was the problem with not doing something herself, because whereas Teresa put too much emotional weight behind her decisions, her most trusted crew seemed to put none at all. An unbalanced approach on opposite ends of an emotional spectrum brought so much trouble.

No more than three months ago, Teresa had stood on the waterfront with Pote, thinking about the future, of getting to a point where she could cut ties with people like Castel and Boaz. Instead she found a future with the number of enemies and casualties rising, where she had to keep Boaz close (at least closer than Sinaloa) and the newly instated Kostya would become integral to her business. Teresa had used Castel for leverage—without Castel’s knowledge or consent—so Teresa had to set up a rescue mission for her. Now, not only was she under protection, but Teresa might have to stand in and crash counsel her as well. So much hinged upon Castel’s safe return and resumption of responsibilities.

Teresa moved her hands into her pockets and focused on a spot on the hardwood floor. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The smile on her face was bitter when she looked back up at James. The last time she’d smiled at him this way was when she acknowledged how far they’d come in their role reversal, where James was the one who had the respectable convictions.

“It’s never gonna end,” Teresa said on an exhale.

She’d told James the same thing a few years back, after he told Camila over the phone the maid was dead. It was the first time she’d been looking directly at him while he protected her, and she’d seen what it was like—the look in his eyes—as he gave her more loyalty than Camila in that moment.

And then it had gone beyond that moment, over and over again.

When James’ expression changed from focused anger to something more forlorn, scared like two nights ago, Teresa knew she’d struck a nerve. He didn’t look back at her like he had after lying about the maid. Teresa had said the wrong thing. She’d been avoiding the topic of _them_ , if there was a them, and if James had come to a decision on whether or not he would stay. But it was the elephant in the room—it took up a lot of space—and even tiptoeing around carefully, she’d walked right into its tusks anyway.

James breathed in deeply and put his hands on his hips. “I need to know it will though.”

Teresa knew at once they were no longer talking only about Castel or Devon or transporting product up the East Coast. It was all of it. It was everything. The look on James’ face and his stance brought up the feeling of _déjà vu_ for Teresa, the kind which was regretful and unwelcome. Because the last time they’d been in a room alone like this, him standing in a white sweater with his hands on his hips, he’d kissed her and she’d held his neck when they hugged and then she didn’t see him for another year, nearly bleeding out on her doorstep.

Two nights before, seated around the fire pit, he said something that sent her into a tailspin: _It sucks doesn’t it? Getting what you were after, what you thought you wanted, but not wanting it anymore once you have it_. His words had led her to apology and admission the other night, but now she was certain he’d said it because he’d already been to that place, so he knew she could relate. He’d been in a peak position when they’d met, then in with people like Devon later on, and put in a tough spot by _her_ in Phoenix. James was levelheaded, pragmatic, nowhere near as emotionally driven as Teresa, but he still knew what the fall from grace was like. He still ended up permanently marred on the inside by the business where good and bad were interwoven and couldn’t be broken apart.

Teresa knew why James had told her to let Camila get bored of her so she could still get out, why he never let her get her hands on the money from the first metric ton of El Santo’s ether-washed product, why he had questioned her plans for expansion before the meeting with Kostya. Teresa had elevated herself far beyond James’ peak. Her fall from grace would be so much further. That was what he’d wanted her to see.

Carrying the weight of the empire all alone was difficult, even for a queen who’d fought tooth and nail, who’d secured her position by sheer force of determination. Teresa always managed, but it didn’t mean the juggling act was easy. Frankly, Teresa didn’t know how heavy the weight was until James had come to New Orleans, until she was no longer just keeping her head above water. He hadn’t done much work for Teresa, not like in Phoenix. But what he did do—being the overwatch at the meeting and planning the Bolivia rescue—held a lot of value. He also made the weight easier to hold with merely his presence; not only did he carry a torch for Teresa, he shared the burden of her load as well. And what she’d admitted to him was valid—she could breathe easier with him there. He wasn’t even gone yet but the thought of him leaving already made her feel short of breath.

Teresa pushed off her heel and shoved James into the bookcase behind him. Teresa wasn’t much of a reader, the case was stocked mostly with display items rather than books, though she did still have a few. The case rattled against the wall it was bolted to under the momentum of their combined weight, a few items knocking over and one falling to the floor when Teresa leaned her body flush against James’ and pressed her lips to his. He tasted like nicotine and tequila and _James_. The kiss was aggressive, Teresa could admit, one hand digging into his scalp and the other strong on his chin to pull him down and make it comfortable despite their height difference.

James kissed her back a few times but was anything but comfortable.

“Whoa,” he said, catching Teresa by the shoulders and pulling away from her lips, looking outside through the windows. “What are you doing?”

The guests were gathered on the balcony around the corner, but it was a wraparound balcony—someone could easily walk around the corner and look into Teresa’s bedroom. James was pretty sure Pote or George wouldn’t hesitate to bang on the glass from outside if they caught Teresa and James in anything even resembling a compromising position. James was also pretty sure stopping a heavy conversation to make out wouldn’t solve the problem of what was so heavy.

“If you’re leaving, I want a proper goodbye.” Teresa wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him in place, providing words of explanation between insistent kisses to the corner of his mouth. “Not like last time.”

She couldn’t have another goodbye be like their last one, the kiss he’d left her with no more than the ghost he’d been. She wanted to remember the taste of his tongue, the way he trembled under her touch before he was gasping and panting, and the look in his eyes so intense she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

They didn’t have to be in the act for Teresa to be given that look, because he looked at her like that anyway. The intimacy between them was still there and had been long before they ever slept together. The sex only made the intimacy between them unavoidable, louder than silence and stronger than any distance between them, even distance they’d created themselves. James took hold of Teresa’s wrists, removing her hands from his neck. He stared at her for a long time and Teresa watched his eyes, searching for the clarity they always held. The squeeze of the fist around Teresa’s heart hurt so much she thought it would leave a fissure when she didn’t find the clarity she was looking for; James’ words had been of an ending, but his eyes were so warm.

James blinked, breaking out of the stare, both of them looking away. He let go of Teresa’s wrists but took a step forward when she took a step back, away from the bookcase and reinvading her space.

“This isn’t about leaving,” he said softly.

Teresa was very aware of the tension in her body in response, pulsing back and forth between winding tightly and uncoiling. She gasped at the pendulum of pressure and looked back up to meet James’ gaze. “It’s not?”

James shook his head. The tension in his own body was manifested in the clenched fists at his sides, the muscles up his arms strained when he started moving his thumbs over his fingers.

“I need to know there’s an end, that one day you’re going to get out of this life,” James clarified his statement that had spurned such seriousness, and continued, “because I can’t be here, be part of this, if that’s not your end goal. I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”

So it wasn’t about leaving. Well, it was, but it was more so about staying, with conditions. James liked kissing her, liked being with her. He loved her, even the parts of her that scared him. And that was why he wouldn’t let himself be moved by desperate kisses brought on by the dark side of Teresa’s survival instinct. James didn’t want to stand idly by, give his consent, waiting for the flickering lights in her eyes to burn out for good.

On the day they’d met, he’d told her _I am not having that again_ about the girls who died trying to deliver product. Just over a week ago, he’d told her he wanted no part in revealing details that would lead to her direct actions that got her killed. James was loyal to a fault, but unbridled dedication was no longer in his wheelhouse. He couldn’t fret and fight if it was to bide the time until they were at their darkest and the only thing staring them in the face was death itself.

“Of course that’s still my end goal,” Teresa replied quickly.

James would not be easily swayed with a simple confirmation from Teresa, because he didn’t need her to say what her end goal was just to convince him. He didn’t want to be convinced. He wanted the truth. He wanted to know if Teresa could handle a life without the business in the future, after all the success it had brought her.

“Don’t say that because you think it’s what I want to hear,” James urged. “Don’t say that unless you mean it. Just be honest with me. With yourself. It will hurt less.”

It’d been a long time since someone who cared about Teresa so deeply, who was there for her and tried to do right by her, issued her such a challenge. She was the one who dished out the orders, the ultimatums. She supposed he’d been inching toward this slowly ever since he’d shown up in New Orleans, disagreeing with her at every turn and giving her valuable advice she didn’t want to hear. It only made sense it would be James who would defy her, who would dare speak to her in such a way.

Teresa had spent the last few days being honest with him, telling him what she wanted from him, how she felt when he wasn’t around. And James always suffered in silence for her; he’d nearly gotten himself killed before ever revealing his deed of self-sacrifice so she could continue to flourish. It was only fair he couldn’t carry on that way if he was going to stay. He needed to be heard, needed his grievances to be out in the open as well.

“The expansion with Kostya is to give myself options, so a transition can happen one day. I’m moving my money into legitimate businesses, so the distillery and the bars, the restaurants that will be on the waterfront property, and Solerno – they won’t be a front to move product. They’ll stand on their own,” Teresa said. “It will work. It’s the only way to make it work. You know all this. You know it will work.”

“But is it even what you want?” James asked bluntly.

He’d seen flickering lights almost fade to black too many times in Teresa’s eyes so he would be remiss if he didn’t act as the firing pin, because the question was the trigger. Teresa couldn’t deny she’d sunken into darkness in her rise to power. James had once told her the business was only _win or lose, live or die_. He’d been right after all, even after he’d said, back in Phoenix, he wasn’t sure if he still believed there was no good or bad in the business. Teresa only won and only lived, because she’d allowed herself to take and take and take, to do whatever means were necessary to still be standing at the end of every day. There was a sadistic side to it she wasn’t immune to—parts of it she took pleasure in. Power was seductive and diminished the value of life itself, and a lot of the time the flames licked at Teresa’s face so well, with no pain, that she didn’t care if she lived or died, and if she died at least she’d done it on her own terms.

But power was a fleeting thing. A voice in the back of her mind—maybe James’ voice more than her own these days—reminded her no one stayed at the top forever. Believing oneself to be nothing short of invincible was exactly the kind of attitude that got a cartel leader killed. The small part of Teresa’s conscience she hadn’t done away with entirely reminded her what she was living for, why she’d worked so hard to survive, and all those she’d loved and lost along the way. The little voice reminded her of her hopes and dreams for a future, like where she’d be and who she’d share it with. And the seduction of that—the very possibility of it—always won out over reckless abandon.

“Getting out is what I want,” Teresa responded to James. “And I want you to be there with me. I want you to see it.”

James sighed and took hold of her arm, frowning but running his thumb gently over her elbow. “I don’t want you to sacrifice anything for me. I don’t want you to give anything up for me.”

Teresa fought back her tears, dismayed it had come to this, where James couldn’t fathom _he_ would be someone’s choice, and _he_ was the one who couldn’t be sacrificed. He was so focused on Teresa getting what she wanted, on her terms, that he couldn’t see the terms weren’t static; they would shift to accommodate him.

“Don’t you get it?” Teresa whispered harshly, her voice breaking as she reached up to touch his face, “I _can’t_ lose you. That’s not for you. That’s for me.”

The air in the room had gotten so thick, so overwhelming, when James accepted her answer, the warmest expression coming upon his face. He looked at her like he was in love with her. He bridged the remaining gap between them and enveloped his arms around her waist. The tears that rolled down Teresa’s cheeks stung harshly compared to the softness of the kiss James pressed to her lips. Teresa made it more possessive, scrunching up the white fabric of his sweater in her fist and biting his bottom lip slightly, with urgency.

They broke apart when they both tasted the salt from her tears, foreheads rested against one another, eyes closed, breaths mixing. James didn’t have to ask if she meant it and Teresa didn’t have to ask if he believed her. They already knew.

Teresa wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat, which felt raw, from nervousness and trying not to cry. James knew she’d get out of the business and he would stay. He’d made his decision. But victory couldn’t be declared when she knew little of his motivation.

“Why do you need assurance I wouldn’t change my plans for you, when you’re giving up so much for me?” Teresa asked boldly before letting her shoulders slump. “It’s not a fair exchange when you want out. I’ll work on it—I have been working on it—but it’s not a quick fix. It’s going to take time to set up and get out. I still have things I have to do in the business.”

“I know.”

“So what about your future? Are you sure you can wait for it to happen?” Teresa reminded James of what she’d said to him at the safe house, after she’d told him about the deal with Devon, “I don’t want you to feel numb. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

James turned and picked up the item that fell to the ground from the bookcase earlier, a hardcover copy of _Full Dark, No Stars_ , placing it face down on the top shelf. He strode over to the bed and sat down on the edge, moving Teresa’s white blazer off to the side. He rolled his neck and rubbed his chin pensively before he spoke, “Even if I left now, I don’t think it’d be very long before I got pulled back in.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, James. I wouldn’t interfere,” Teresa argued. “I told you, if out is what you really want—”

“That’s not what I mean,” James interrupted, sensing the panic in her voice—worried he would take back the moment they’d had—despite her words.

“What, then?”

“Devon knows about us—he knows what we’ve done for each other,” James said with a sigh. “If he knows, then Kostya knows. And everyone else who would hold something against either one of us. So deal or no deal with Devon, it would only be so long before someone came for one of us, to get to the other person.”

They didn’t need to say the words out loud to know they’d both come running if the other was in trouble. The last few weeks served as evidence; they’d both put themselves in danger to get the other out of it.

“The only way out is to execute a plan to get out. And it’s like you said, that takes time,” James added.

“We can make it so you don’t have to get too involved,” Teresa proposed. “You can be in charge of strategy and operations on the backend. Make the plans but let everyone else carry them out.”

 _Let everyone else commit the crimes_ , James thought she meant. Let everyone else put themselves in peril and sit on the sidelines while all their lives were at risk? He didn’t think so.

“No way,” James responded flatly. “I’m gonna do whatever it takes to protect us. I can’t do that if I have one foot in and one foot out. That’s a recipe for disaster. That’s how people get killed.”

No matter if James was adversely affected by the things he had to do, he hadn’t lost his touch. He was good at what he did. He hadn’t forgotten how to be ruthless.

Teresa walked up to the bed and sat down next to James. She took his hand in hers. “I didn’t mean to leave you with no choice.”

She wouldn’t have been offended if he came back and said _it’s because I always choose you_. She hadn’t wanted to hurt James by keeping him in the life, by forcing his hand. She’d even thought she’d given him a choice where there wasn’t one before, when she made a deal with Devon, so he could stay or go of his own accord but didn’t have to run. But James seemed to think it was too late. He was willing to take the setback and work his way back to zero, to a future where they _both_ made it out. Teresa couldn’t think of anything other than burning love that would drive a person to do such a thing.

“I always had a choice,” James replied, eyes soft and voice steady, dispelling her worry about being the one who sealed off the cave. He squeezed Teresa’s hand. “I chose.”

Teresa’s heart ached so good. She moved closer to James and buried her face against his neck, swinging her legs up onto the bed so they rested across his lap. She waited for him to take her up in his embrace before settling in against his chest. They usually hugged for comfort, in the face of disaster when they were in the eye of the storm and everything was crumbling down around them. Their hugs were uncertain, like when Teresa had suspected James to be a mole and when they’d said goodbye in Phoenix. Even in her hallucination in the jungle, his hug had brought as much confusion as comfort, when she allowed her conscience to reveal that James had worked his way into her heart and he meant more to her than she ever could have imagined in her waking life.

But this time they were building something up—building each other up—with no ulterior motives. They’d never hugged like this before. It was affectionate. It was without doubts. It was new.

“So is this okay?” Teresa asked after a while. “ _Us_?”

It was the last thing on the docket that needed confirmation. James had referred to them as such—as an ‘us’—a few times already since their conversation began. Teresa asked her questions against James’ skin, nuzzling his neck. She’d let herself be so vulnerable with him lately and part of her still felt like squirming under his gaze. James let her know how he felt with his actions and simple words, but she couldn’t get her point across unless she made sweeping statements about not being able to breathe, without subtlety.

James pulled back so they could see each other at eye level.

“Yeah,” he said simply, brushing Teresa’s hair out of her face and running his fingers through a few stray strands. “I accept your offer.”

Teresa’s nervous energy had become giddy. She giggled at the way he brought up her words from two nights ago, which had been a play on something he’d said a year ago— _is that just a business offer?_ —when they’d both been burned by distrust. Teresa crushed her lips against James’ because the words had new meaning, sweet and not so heavy anymore.

“Hey,” James cleared his throat and tapped Teresa’s knee, not letting the kiss last long. “You need to kick everyone out. You need to talk to Castel.”

To know James was to know he always tried to stay on top of things. He didn’t like business to be messy, even though it always was. And now, with an end goal formally declared, he would try to clean up where he could.

“You’re distracting me,” Teresa gave herself an excuse. “You’re the one who came in here to discuss one thing and then changed the topic completely.”

The elephant that took up too much square footage in the room now ceased to exist. Teresa liked how _settled_ felt, moving away from not knowing if James would stay to becoming an _us_. 

“Sure, yeah, it’s all my fault.” James chuckled and stood from the bed, picking up Teresa’s jacket and unfurling it, holding it out for her. “Come on. Clock’s ticking.”

James was the only one on whom Teresa’s power suit seemed to have no effect, because he could still see through the armor of white to who she was at her core. As she accepted his help begrudgingly—wishing they could have five more minutes alone instead of breaking the news to her guests that they’d have to relocate for lunch—putting her arms through the holes and untucking her hair from the inside when he settled the jacket onto her shoulders, Teresa was grateful James would keep her grounded, keep her honest. She’d been swayed by the darkness but had seen the big picture, the same one he saw. They’d work together to bring back balance. He would ensure her tunnel vision stayed focused and keep the light alive in her eyes.

They only made it to the hallway before Teresa pushed James up against the closed door to the main bathroom and kissed him with urgency again. With his hands on her hips, James let it linger and Teresa tried to memorize it. Because with goodbyes eliminated from the equation, his kiss of ‘hello’ was the only one she needed to know.

**_Fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Extended Chapter Notes](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/post/640657660773023744/throwing-copper-extended-chapter-notes) are on tumblr, where I’m [@jerepars](https://jerepars.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I'm so grateful to everyone who's commented, left kudos, liked, and reblogged. It was certainly encouraging. I love getting your thoughts. Your feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading. <3


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